


Vegas Liber Erit

by CoffeeMinx



Series: What Happens In Freeside Universe [4]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkward Boners, Bondage, Canon Dialogue, Canon-Typical Violence, Come Marking, Crack Treated Seriously, Developing Relationship, Dirty Dancing, First Time, Food Sex, Frottage, Ice Play, Intercrural Sex, Kissing, M/M, Mentions of Video Game Mechanics, Mentions of Video Game Plot, Mirror Sex, Oral Sex, Pole Dancing, Possessiveness, Praise Kink, Prickly Pear Fruit, References to Canon, Rough Kissing, Sarcasm, Sex, Slight D/s Dynamics, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Stripping, Submission, Surprisingly Canon Compliant, Temperature Play, Trust Kink, Voice Kink, gratuitous Latin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-20 21:59:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 24,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2444672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeMinx/pseuds/CoffeeMinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the fourth and final story dealing with the Fallout: New Vegas main game storyline in the <i>What Happens in Freeside series.</i></p><p>This entire series grew out of someone on the Fallout Kinkmeme asking, after the original <i>What Happens in Freeside</i> story was posted to the meme, for a scene with Vulpes and Arcade eating fruit while having sex. </p><p>So I had to get them back together, and then get them somewhere that would have fruit and a bed. And give them at least somewhat believable motivations to have sex. </p><p>And that's how you get this series. Just an author floundering to find love and fruit in the Wasteland.</p><p>In other words, this is the logical continuation of their story. </p><p>Title means Vegas Will Be Free.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The hollowed-out rock on the way to Novac provided two crunchy mutfruits and even a little much needed shade for Vulpes and Arcade. They sat on the sun-hardened ground, leaning against the warm rock, sharing a bottle of purified water Vulpes had brought in his rucksack.

Legs sprawled, Vulpes allowed his body to relax while his brain raced through their next steps. It was probably time to change clothes. After beaching the boat, he had stayed in his Legion uniform just in case they ran into any legionaries. Now they were past the Legion incursion areas and far more likely to run across NCR soldiers. 

"I have new disguises for us stashed in the rucksack," he announced. Arcade would undoubtably be pleased to shed his slave rags.

He looked over at Arcade and observed the doctor staring at the way the hem of his uniform was rucked up high about his thighs. 

"Too bad you can't keep the skirt," Arcade commented, still enjoying the view. 

Vulpes raised an eyebrow and waited for the doctor to notice.

Arcade glanced up, met his gaze, and started to blush. "Sorry, did I just say that aloud? Must be the shock catching up with me." He snatched up the water bottle and took a long draught.

Vulpes watched his lips on the bottle, watched the way the muscles in his neck worked as he swallowed, watched a bead of perspiration trickle into the small hollow at the base of the doctor's throat. And it occurred to him that his appreciation of his companion was no different than Arcade's, though perhaps more subtle.

The doctor finished drinking and handed the bottle to Vulpes. 

Vulpes placed it on the ground between them. "Are you rested enough to continue?"

Arcade nodded, gazing off into the distance. His expression was somber now, his mouth a pinched line. "Before we get to Novac, there's something I should tell you."

"Does it explain why you insisted we travel there?"

"Yes."

The one word answer, a rarity from the doctor, intrigued Vulpes, as did his continuing silence. Vulpes waited. This held the promise of being important information, something he would have been pleased to gather on behalf of Caesar. 

Except that he no longer performed that function. An overwhelming sense of loss bubbled up inside him and he quickly buried it. That was the trouble with emotion. Entertain one and they all arrive. 

No, this information would be obtained solely for himself. He had a sudden feeling of uncertainty. Perhaps he did not wish to hear it. 

Arcade glanced at him, then glanced away. "I've…never told anyone this before." Another long pause, during which he took off his glasses and concentrated on inspecting them. "I didn't even tell Braxton, and I thought we were…friends. Though I suppose it's something you'd only tell your closest, best friend…and that's something I've never had. Not to say I haven't known some good men but, in my experience, lovers make poor confidants."

Vulpes grunted an assent. "In my experience, there is no such thing as a confidant." Or a lover. But he didn't say that. "Frumentarii who cannot keep secrets die."

"Well… I'm sharing my secret with you now."

Vulpes nodded once, aware of the gravity of the situation and the honor implied. "It will be secure."

Arcade offered him a small smile. "That was never in any doubt." He cleared his throat. "I was born into an organization named the Enclave." The doctor waited a beat, as if he thought Vulpes might recognize the name, then continued, "Memories are short out here, but… they did bad things. Kidnapped people. Terrorized them. Used slave labor. Plotted genocide. Things like that. And I see your eyes lighting up there. Stop that. This is not good news, you scary person, you."

"My apologies. I take it they did not succeed in their plans."

"No. Luckily they were stopped. Long story, short--the Enclave was destroyed. Those survivors not killed by the NCR or hunted down by the Brotherhood of Steel were forced to live on the run, always moving, always on the fringes. And that's a fair description of my early life. Hiding. Never knowing what we'd abandon next. Never trusting anyone with my true self."

Never trusting…. He knew precisely how that felt. "We are more alike than I thought."

"Now wait," the doctor responded, and Vulpes recognized Arcade's fit-of-pique tone. "Just because we both have a slaving, militaristic organization in our background…"

"And we both wield a ripper."

"…and we both use rippers does not make us similar."

"We could dye your hair."

"You're joking," Arcade snapped. His eyes narrowed, then he grinned. "Hey. You _are_ joking. Amazing." Irritation had been washed away by happiness, and perhaps a touch of self-congratulatory pride--as if this were a personal achievement, a Follower bringing humor to a legionary. 

Vulpes decided not to inform him that humor could be found even in places where there was little to laugh about. "Yes. I would not change your hair. I like being able to identify you across great distances."

Arcade's smile widened. "I think I got that in a fortune cookie once. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder from a great distance. You know, another word for beholding-from-a-distance is stalking."

"Stalking prey is an enjoyable--"

"Not prey. Don't go there. I'm about to introduce you to my family. Don't frighten them. Or me, come to that."

"Your family…the Enclave survivors?"

"They call themselves the Remnants, but, yes. They stood by my mother and me throughout everything. They'll help us." He grimaced. "Or at least I think they will."

"You believe showing up with a Frumentarius might lead to complications."

Arcade nodded. "Orion Moreno wouldn't mind your being Legion--he hates the NCR--but he lives in Camp McCarran's backyard. Johnson's cave would have been easier to get to, only he wouldn't have taken kindly to…you. Daisy Whitman is our best bet. She was like a mother to me after my mother died."

"This Daisy was a warrior for the Enclave?"

"Vertibird pilot. She flew my father out on missions. Including his last one. She never told me what happened to him."

Vulpes nodded slowly, processing that information. Flying. The concept tossed out as if such things were commonplace. He latched on to the part of the sentence most relevant to his interests. "Do you wish me to make her talk?"

Arcade's eyes widened. "No. No, no, no. We want her to like you."

"Why?"

"Because I…I…. Well… I suppose I should first ask…. Uhmm…."

Vulpes waited. Before the operation, Caesar used to have spells where he could not string words into sentences. If you waited long enough, his mind came back to him. So he waited, silently. Vulpes could be very patient. 

Arcade grabbed the bottle of water and took several long gulps. After he put it back down on the ground between them, he tried again. "Are we…. Do we have…." He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut. "What do we have?" 

"What?"

"Is this just a…thing? Or a…thing. No, don't answer that."

"I was not planning to."

"Oh?"

"I never answer until I understand what is being said."

"Oh, right." Arcade reached down to fiddle with the water bottle. "I'm asking.... Are we…?" His eyes darted to Vulpes and then away, like one attempting to look at the sun. 

Vulpes waited, his exterior calm and his mind sorting through the various things this _thing_ could be that had the doctor as nervous as a virgin at Gomorrah. It couldn't be that, of course. Arcade possessed skills only experience could provide.

The doctor sighed. "It's not for me, you understand. I catalog plants, not relationships. I know as well as anyone the transitory nature of life, especially the Mojave's post-apocalyptic life and its nine different ways to end up as somebody's dinner. No, it's Daisy. She knows…she knows about my romantic interests and seeing you with me, she's bound to ask. Just thought we should be on the same page when she does." 

Relationships. Romantic interests. At last Vulpes had a clue as to what was turning Arcade's ears so red. Besides the sun. He did seem to sunburn easily.

"You are saying this Daisy of yours will ask if we are engaged in a sexual dalliance."

"My god. Did you just say dalliance? Never mind. Yes. That's what I'm saying. She tells complete strangers about crashing her vertibird at Klamath. Which, for the record, is quite indiscreet if you're an ex-Enclave in hiding. So, yes, she'll ask if we're…dallying."

"And I cannot simply strike her for her impertinence?" 

"There's probably a special hell for people whose boyfriends strike little old ladies. No. You can't just hit her. And I didn't say boyfriend just now, either. That was the heat talking."

"I see. Then I suppose you must answer no."

Vulpes had never seen the light leave a living person's face so swiftly. "No? Oh. Okay. That's perfectly fine. Obviously. I mean, I knew it wasn't--"

"--Because dalliance implies casual."

"Oh. Oh?" Arcade perked up, his spine a little straighter, his eyebrows raised in sudden hope. "So…we don't have a casual…thing?"

Vulpes allowed himself a brief nod and looked away. "What I did…setting torch to the Legate's camp…deserting the Fort to escort you to safety. These are things not done casually."

"No." Arcade's voice was quiet. "I didn't think about...how this affected you. Did I even thank you?"

Vulpes studied the dusty ground. "It is done now. I abandoned everything I have known, the one system I have believed in. For you. I still do not understand precisely…why. But it was not casual. That is certain."

He felt Arcade's warm fingers brush along his averted cheek, slow and gentle, then suddenly seize his jaw. The doctor's grip was surprisingly fierce, possessive even, as he wrenched Vulpes' face about so their eyes could meet. 

Or rather, Vulpes expected their eyes to meet. Instead it was their lips.

For a second Vulpes thought he was under attack. The mouth on his was firm, demanding. Hot palms pressed against his cheek, his neck, while strong fingers gripped both sides of his head. Then the doctor was swinging his leg over to straddle Vulpes' lap.

Vulpes' arms raised in automatic defense but he consciously checked his reaction before he inflicted any damage. This was…surprising, but it was not meant to harm. Heat kindled low in his gut. No, definitely not harm.

The doctor continued his sensuous assault. Trapped between Arcade and the rock at his back, his arms still hesitating in mid-air, there was nothing for Vulpes to do but feel. Feel that frisson of heat within him flare into a delicious, rising, aching fire of need.

Heedless of anything save instinct, his hands seized Arcade's hips, fingers digging into bone. Arcade moaned and the pressure of his mouth increased, bruising Vulpes' lips. His tongue prodded, pushed, insistent on entrance, and Vulpes allowed him in.

This felt right in a way nothing else ever had. It felt…. No, he felt. And that did not happen often. This lightning bright charge of excitement was similar to the heat of battle, when you were winning, doused with the warm blood of your enemies, and yet nothing like that at all.

He wanted this connection. More than he valued his connection to the Legion. Both that revelation and the kiss left him breathless when Arcade pulled back and gazed into his eyes. 

Vulpes' chest hitched as he tried to calm his excited breathing. "What was that in aid of?"

"Uhmm…. Stress relief?" 

"I see." The ways of Profligates were strange indeed.

"And to say…." The doctor leaned a little closer, his direct gaze very intense. "Proving to you that life in the Mojave is better without the Legion will be my life's work, if you'll let me."

"You have a catalog of this, then, like with your plants?"

"Not so much a catalog. More a very colorful brochure. With large type and nice pictures." He swung himself off Vulpes and clambered to his feet. "Now. Didn't I hear you say something about disguises?"

Vulpes rummaged in his rucksack and pulled out a wasteland doctor outfit. "This is for me." Next he retrieved a jumbled heap of straps and leather and held it out to Arcade.

Arcade stared at the bundle and made no move to take it. "That? What is… Oh, no. No you didn't. You brought a Fiend outfit for me to wear?" 

"It is preferable to the slave outfit, correct?"

"Yes, but I actually am, wait for it, a doctor. So I should get the wasteland doctor outfit."

"It will not fit you. This is the one you gave to me, back in Freeside."

Arcade swore. "But you're more the Fiend type than I am."

"Agreed. However the clothes are more adaptable to someone of your height."

"Only because there's so little of them. All right. Give 'em here. But I'm warning you, I will not wear a dead thing on my head."

"The helmet would not fit in the rucksack. But I imagine you would be quite fetching in it."

Vulpes started to don his disguise and, with a grimace of distaste, Arcade followed suit.

"What's a doctor traveling with a Fiend for anyway?"

"Perhaps you act as my bodyguard in exchange for free access to the chemicals that satisfy your dependency."

"Those chemicals shall be called 'Brahmin Steak' and 'Wine.' And I want a lot of them." Arcade finished changing, looked down at himself and groaned. "My self-respect is plotting its own demise. If we run into anyone with a camera I want you to kill them."

"Understood."

"No, not really kill them. I didn't mean…."

 "Kill. Don't kill. This is where I call you a tease."

Arcade shook his head. "I can't handle any more of your humor right now." His chuckle belied his words. "There's only so much stress I can take."

"I understand that Profligates have pleasurable ways of relieving stress."

"Ha. Who's being a tease now?"


	2. Chapter 2

Arcade had been nervously watching the mouth of Novac's giant dinosaur ever since it appeared on the horizon. _The last thing you'll never see_ had taken up residence as a recurring chant in his brain. If ever there were a time to be thankful for Enclave genes, this was it. His height and build and uncommon hair color had to make him fairly unforgettable, right? 

Manny would remember him, certainly. They'd flirted often enough on his trips to visit Daisy. Boone hadn't spoken more than a few words to him but…. It occurred to Arcade that Braxton had kept his followers separated much of the time--all the better to make sure they didn't compare notes, didn't question what he was up to. 

How had he not seen that before? Overt flattery really would get people anywhere with him. He'd have to watch that in future. Not that flattery would have much of a place in his future, or at least he hoped not. He looked forward to spending his nights discussing the merits of democracies and republics and further failed political systems with his ex-Legionary. Among other, even more enjoyable things.

He squirmed and struggled with his meager outfit's laughable excuse for genital protection. How this qualified as armor he'd never know.

"We are within the snipers' range now," Vulpes announced, voice calm as ever. Like he had observed some mildly interesting Pre-War canned food, not their possible demise.

"If daylight's still Manny's shift, we're fine." Arcade's voice sounded loud and wobbly to his own ears and he knew he hadn't even convinced himself. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Manny'll recognize me as a friend, despite this get-up. And then he'll laugh himself sick and I will never, never hear the end of it."

Though it felt like it took forever, eventually they reached and passed by Dinky without incident, although Arcade could have sworn he heard chortling from above. That could have been the gods laughing at him, of course. In this outfit he wouldn't be surprised.

Never had that dingy motel looked so inviting. He bounded up the stairs, getting pinched by his armor in the process - which solidified in his mind just how far gone the Fiends actually were to run about dressed like this, and - still swearing under his breath - knocked on Daisy's door.

The door opened, hesitantly, and Daisy peered out. Then the elder woman's face transformed from mildly genial to delighted.

"Arcade! It's been ages." She threw open the door and stepped into him, hugging him with the ferocity of an old soldier. "How are you, dear? Are you eating right?" 

He laughed. "Yes, yes, I'm fine."

She pulled back and frowned up at him. "Then what are you doing in these ghastly clothes? What would your father say?"

Something deep inside of him cringed at her words. Ah yes, that sharp sense of shame that only family can give you. _Home, at last._

Trying to ignore the mortified blush he could feel creeping up his neck, Arcade began, "Daisy, I'd like to introduce…."

"I did your laundry from last time," Daisy continued, as if he had not spoken. "Thought you were never coming back for it. What have you been up to? No, don't tell me, first let's get you into some clean clothes. Quickly, now." She clapped her hands together twice to emphasize her order.

In her mind he was doomed to remain about seven years old. Not that he minded the clean clothes part. Normal, sane-person trousers and a baggy lab coat long enough to hide a multitude of sins, those were currently all he wanted out of life. And a bath. And for Vulpes to take him up on the brahmin steak and wine dinner. Preferably by candlelight.

"Daisy," he tried again, but was steamrollered once more.

"Made a new friend, did you?" Her motherly tone had switched to ice.

Vulpes leaned against the motel's brick wall, arms crossed in front of his chest. As relaxed as his position looked, Arcade could sense the tension vibrating off him and knew Vulpes could spring from there and kill them both before they'd realize he'd moved. Probably without making a sound.

Daisy stared at Vulpes with narrowed eyes. It didn't help that he grinned wolfishly back. 

"Are you certain you do not wish for me to strike her?"

\-------------------------------------

One bath later - and dressed in some of his own, fresh clothes, and Arcade was ready to face the world once more. Or at least ready to face Daisy…and rescue Vulpes from whatever grilling she was giving him. She tended to interrogate boyfriends within an inch of their proverbial lives. Though maybe it would be the other way around this time. 

While Daisy could be very intimidating when she was in Protective Mother mode - Daisy could be pretty intimidating, period, actually - Vulpes was a whole different level of…threat? Perhaps that wasn't the right word, but it would do.

He took a deep breath as he reached for the bathroom doorknob. He had pleaded with the two of them not to kill each other while he washed, but - despite hurrying quick as humanly possible - he was uncertain what scene would meet his eyes on the other side.

Opening the door with a cautious push, he stepped out. A small sigh of relief escaped his lips when he saw Vulpes was where he'd left him, sitting slouched on a chair with a deadly nonchalance. 

Daisy, however, had moved. No longer perched on the edge of her bed, she paced back and forth in front of Vulpes, hands on her hips. "You're Legion, aren't you?" Her lip curled.

"And you are Enclave. I believe there is a saying about a pot and a kettle that many would find particularly appropriate here."

"You don't deny it? You don't want to distance yourself from that bunch of sexist, cannibalistic hoodlums?"

"The Legion is bringing order to chaos. Civilization to the Dissolute."

"You believe that crap?"

"Yes, I believe in what I do…in what I did."

"Pot and kettle indeed." She snorted. "I never approved of what the Enclave was doing. I just wanted to fly."

"And your victims appreciated the difference, did they?" Head cocked to the side, Vulpes favored her with that inhumanly cold, bored stare. "Yes, I imagine they took great comfort, as they watched their own viscera spill onto the scorching sand, knowing their deaths were merely a toll you paid to be airborne."

For a moment there was silence. Daisy's mouth opened but no words formed. Arcade rushed into the pause.

"And how is everything? Everyone getting along? Good, good. Fox, why don't I meet you outside? I'll just be a moment. You could get us a room for tonight…."

"Arcade," Daisy's voice rang like a warning bell. "Unless he's made an honest man of you, you will be sleeping right here and that man will be in his own room."

Arcade felt his ears burning. _Oh, my precious non-virginity._ But before he could react, Vulpes stood. 

"Madam." Vulpes gave Daisy a mocking half-bow and then sauntered for the door. 

"I'll be down in a moment," Arcade called after him.

Once the latch clicked shut, Daisy turned to Arcade. "Now, honey, you know I don't often get involved in your…personal life."

_Small mercies._

"And we won't go into it again, but you know how disappointed your parents would be that you're abandoning a pure genetic line when you could go find a nice girl and procreate for the benefit of humanity."

_Kill me now._

"Setting all that aside…." 

_Yes. Far aside. On the next continent, in fact. If another still exists._

"He's not really your type, is he?"

 _Why, yes, sociopaths are entirely my type. Why do you ask?_ Arcade struggled to hold on to his neutral smile. Maybe it wasn't entirely ridiculous. What else would attract Enclave men but the two extremes - victims and fellow sociopaths. 

"You're judging him without knowing him," he replied, aiming for objectivity and hearing himself sound peevish instead. "This is why he wasn't supposed to tell you he's ex-Legion."

"Didn't sound very 'ex' to me."

"Trust me. He's left the Legion. But it's a long story and there's no sense in you worrying retroactively, right? The point would be that he saved my life."

She reached out and softly patted the back of his hand. "I think he's dangerous, dear."

"He is. But not to me." A buoyant warmth flooded him at the thought, and his chest felt too tight to contain it. Meeting Vulpes was probably one of the rarest honors of his life. Like being friends with a deathclaw - strange and wonderful and kind of awe-inspiring that he'd care to be friends at all. If people only knew, they'd want one of their own.

Daisy sighed. "To be honest, I don't think he intended to tell me…about being Legion."

"What did you do?"

"Me? Nothing! No, it was…. He told me I 'need not fret over you'. Something about how any threat to you would have to kill him first, and they'd have a long, exhausting climb up a pile of gruesomely slaughtered bodies to do it. As a declaration of love, it sounded very Legion to me."

"Love? I don't think…I don't think love…. Do you really think so? I mean…."

"You have it bad, don't you," she stated, shaking her head. A small sad smile settled on her lips. "This one's just going to hurt you, I can feel it."

Always ready to deflect or redirect, Arcade decided to avoid this emotional snare with humor. "You've lived down the road from New Vegas how long? And you don't know 'you can't win if you don't play'?" He leant over and kissed her forehead. "Let me go make sure Fox got a room. You never know. The busy season might be upon us."

As he strode to the door, he heard her say, "I only want you to be happy."

"I know." He glanced back and gave her a smile that she didn't return. Then he opened the door and stepped out onto the balcony. 

His first thought upon seeing Vulpes in the courtyard below - other than how schoolgirl it was that his heart skipped a beat at the mere sight of the man - was how on edge Vulpes looked. He followed the direction of Vulpes' gaze.

A man was approaching the legionary. A familiar, muscular man in merc grunt fatigues. Yes, same dark sunglasses. Same red beret. 

"Heard Gannon was here." Same quiet, terse voice. So Boone had returned to Novac.

Vulpes nodded once. "Yes. He visits a woman called Daisy."

Arcade started to call down to them when he noticed Boone's hands were clenched into fists and the muscles along his arms bulged and strained under his skin. It looked like if he didn't hit something soon his muscular system was going to split apart from his body and start taking names on its own.

"Braxton sold Gannon to the Legion."

"I am aware of that." Vulpes' leisurely, icy tone just seemed to make Boone angrier.

"How'd you get him out?" 

Vulpes' smile was more feral than friendly. "With some difficulty."

"Huh."

"You are Braxton's psychologically-damaged pet sniper, correct?"

Oh, _that_ would not go over well. Out of the frying pan, into the volcano. _Story of my life_.


	3. Chapter 3

Those were the eyes of a killer. Well, they would be if Vulpes could see his eyes. The dark sunglasses made that impossible. But this had to be the Courier's Legion-hating, former NCR minion. 

Sniper, according to his beret. He'd approached Vulpes too close to use that skill. Probably trained in hand to hand. He was all but invincible according to the few, the very few, Legion survivors of engagements with him.

And he is asking about Arcade? Interesting. Vulpes felt a knot of hatred twist in his gut. Which was obviously due to the man having shot so many of his fellow legionaries. Nothing at all to do with… jealousy or anything else. 

The sniper had a good physique. He'd give him that. A soldier for life, then, whether enlisted or not. He'd be a more worthy opponent than many about the Wastes.

Slight muscle tremor, though. Use of Buffout likely. Or Psycho. Never can tell with NCR profligates. Will make him more difficult to take down. 

Also, he was not amused by witty evasions. Good. Vulpes let his smile show. A man this angry will be easy to goad into a mistake. Might be fun to go for his kneecaps first. Then throat.

A sudden shout of "I'm here!" cut across his thoughts.

Arcade was clattering down the stairs, long legs taking two steps at a time. "Right here," he gasped, running up to them, a lopsided grin on his face. "Boone! Great to see you." He ran a hand through his disheveled blond locks. "We're all here. This is nice. Right? Nice? Do we have a room, Fox? Why don't we all go inside? Get a drink. It'll be…nice."

The sniper had whirled at Arcade's oddly exuberant approach. Now faced with the doctor's bright smile and flushed cheeks, his mouth relaxed, its grim line sliding into…something slightly less grim. Vulpes was uncertain whether the man was a master at hiding his thoughts, or if his facial muscles just didn't work properly.

"Gannon. You're alive." Boone's tone was deeper this time, more husky. The feelings not showing on his face were all too evident in his voice.

Vulpes found himself moving to hover at Arcade's side. Which was not a possessive move at all. Just protective. No, not that either. Where had these feelings come from? By Mars, emotions were infuriating.

He stepped back, making room for Arcade to launch into an awkward hug with the surprised sniper.

It was over in a moment, Arcade releasing the man's stiffened body. "Just thought I'd defuse the tension with some ungainly embarrassment. My forte." 

With unexpected swiftness, Boone gripped the doctor tight, walloped him hard on the back, just once, and stepped away. Apparently sentiment is acceptable if it hurts. Vulpes could agree with that, at least.

The sniper turned, placing his body like a shield between Vulpes and Arcade. The wrathful glower was back on his face. "You want to walk, Gannon? I've got your back."

"Walk? No. Oh, I see, I think there's a misunderstanding here…." 

"You don't owe the bastard anything." Fists clenched. Muscles flexed. The anger had bubbled back to the surface. "No matter what he paid for your ass."

"Paid? You think…I'll have you know--"

"Arcade can go where he likes," Vulpes interrupted, all the while measuring distances and plotting attacks and counters, his knees slightly bent, ready for action. "But he is not leaving with you." His heart pounded and his blood felt charged with the excitement of upcoming battle.

"You can't stop me," the sniper growled.

"I can and I shall."

"Buying Gannon doesn't make him yours."

"I did not buy him. But if you touch him, I shall carve your hands off at the wrists."

"What?" It was more a snarl than a word.

"Uh, guys? Guys? Much as it would turn my knees to plasma goo to witness you two fighting over me, we've got to talk."

Boone ignored him. "Die, slaver."

Vulpes grinned. "After you."


	4. Chapter 4

Pain was such a pure sensation. Sharp. Helpful. Gratifying when inflicted upon an adversary. 

The sniper grunted as Vulpes landed a kidney punch as repayment for what felt like a split lip. He could taste his own blood in his mouth.

On the sidelines, Arcade shouted, "Boone! Stop! He's not a slaver! Why is no one listening to me? I'm using simple English."

Distracted by Arcade's tirade (those were always amusing), Vulpes misjudged a dodge and the sniper landed a solid hit to his ribs. He heard Arcade release a string of panicked curses.

"Boone! I'm not your virgin sister who needs protecting! Oh for god's sake… Craig!"

The personal name penetrated Boone's battle haze and he glanced in Arcade's direction. It was fleeting, but it was all the opening Vulpes needed for a quick takedown.

Boone fell back, flat on his back. Vulpes followed him down, straddling the man's waist. With classic NCR training, the sniper protected his face with his arms, elbows blocking any direct blows. It didn't matter. The end of the hunt was nigh.

Vulpes was about to experience the satisfying crunch of pounding the sniper's skull into the Mojave dust when strong arms wrapped around his abdomen and he realized Arcade was hauling him off. The way the doctor carried himself, it was easy to forget how imposingly well-built he truly was.

"Stop. Please," Arcade practically begged, the whispered plea a warm caress of breath across his ear.

Vulpes tore himself out of the doctor's grasp with a snarl. He'd had that NCR dog at his mercy. He wouldn't get a chance like that again. But, much as he yearned to return to the fight, he refrained, managing to snap, "For you," at Arcade. 

Boone was back on his feet and ready to charge but Arcade stepped between them.

"Enough! Fox rescued me from the Legion. Have you got that? Not bought. Not snatched away like a hapless Sabine. _Rescued._ We're friends."

"Like hell." The suspicion on the sniper's face said even more eloquently that he was not convinced.

"Yes. Friends." Arcade glanced at Vulpes. There was something, a question in his eyes that Vulpes didn't know how to answer. He wasn't sure what he was being asked.

The doctor took a deep breath. "Actually, we're more than that. In fact, if you try to attack him again, I'll leap to his defense with my vast reservoir of terrifically overwrought language."

Boone stared blankly at the doctor. Vulpes suspected the same look was on his own face.

"For example," Arcade continued, "Vv--Fox is the brightest star in the constellation of my life. The star to my wandering bark, whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Our love alters not with brief hours and weeks, but bears out even to the edge of doom. Wait, you can't be ill already, I'm just getting started. I'm sure I can dredge this up in true iambic pentameter…."

"Stop." Boone's frown could have wrestled radscorpions.

"How about an illustration closer to home? I cherish him like I'm trapped at midday in Ivanpah Dry Lake with two broken legs and he's my last bottle of water. And he's purified water, too."

"You're saying…." 

"Fox and I have a thing. Yes."

This word _thing_ obviously meant more in English than it did in Latin. Its implications were still a little cloudy to Vulpes, but Boone seemed to grasp them immediately.

"Oh." The sniper cocked his head to the side and Vulpes had the distinct impression he was being appraised. "That your type?"

"Apparently. Yes. Can we get on now? We need to talk."

"About?"

"For one thing, how did you find out what happened to me?"

"Receipt."

"What?"

"Ever since…." Boone stopped. Swallowed. "Make a point of reading receipts. Everyone's."

"Never thought I'd be thankful for Legion red-tape and paperwork. Any of our other merry bandmembers know Braxton sold me to the Legion? Did you tell Veronica?"

"Who?"

"Veronica Santangelo? The girl dressed in brown? Cheerful. Likes punching things."

Boone grunted. "Didn't know she was one of us. Braxton took her to dinner. She didn't come back. Figured it didn't work out."

Arcade released a pent up breath. "That's a relief."

"Perhaps not," Vulpes said, careful that his voice betrayed even less emotion than usual. If his instant suspicion was correct, Arcade would not like this. "Do you remember the dining establishment's name?"

The sniper somehow managed to scowl at him without moving a muscle. Nevertheless, he answered. "Where Braxton took her? Yeah. Elegant. White-sleeves or something."

"The White Glove Society are cannibals, and on the side of the Legion, thanks to the Courier. I would not be surprised if your Veronica were offered to their chef as part of Braxton's enticement for them to join the Legion's cause."

Arcade turned, striding for somewhere he wouldn't reach before his knees gave out and he fell to all fours, hurling the few contents of his stomach into the dust. 

Vulpes followed to crouch beside him. He placed his palm on the small of the doctor's back, but said nothing. There was nothing to say. 

Idly, he wondered if this Veronica had been the woman he had seen with Braxton once. The Courier had no sense of loyalty. The sooner he was exterminated, the better. Vulpes' thoughts returned to Arcade when the doctor shuddered. 

"I'll kill him. I'll kill him myself." The words were barely whispered, the doctor sounding like he choked on each one.

While Vulpes would have reveled in introducing Braxton to his own pulmonary system, he was certainly willing to stand aside so Arcade could have the pleasure instead. This kill would possess a personal dimension for the doctor.

He had no doubt Arcade could accomplish the matter, either. Although the doctor always downplayed his abilities, he was very strong, with a working knowledge of ripper usage and a professional background in anatomy. And if he needed assistance, Vulpes could always hold Braxton down while Arcade played. 

The muffled shuffle of boots on dust told Vulpes the sniper was joining them. He didn't bother to turn to look. A legionary would have recognized the subtle insult, that the NCR man wasn't considered enough of a threat to merit eyes on his approach. He doubted the sniper would notice, but it made him feel better just the same. Arcade didn't want him to attack the man. He didn't say he couldn't insult him.

"We'll avenge her." Boone's voice was gruff but sincere. 

Arcade slowly sat back and braced his hands on his thighs. Vulpes shifted to give him space but remained crouched at the doctor's side. He didn't stand until Arcade did.

The doctor walked a few paces, tilted his head back and inhaled through his nose. Then he exhaled with the sort of force that comes from believing emotions could be purged through breathing exercises. Vulpes already knew emotions were not so easily evicted but he didn't say anything.

Swiping his sleeve across his face, Arcade then turned to Boone. "So. Umm...So, yeah. You quit Braxton after you found the receipt of my sale?"

A very slight pink tinged the sniper's cheeks. "No."

"Nooo." Arcade repeated slowly, as if trying to worm a secret meaning from the response. He blinked. Hard. "Uh. Sort of was expecting a 'yes' to that question."

"I confronted him." The sniper sounded slightly defensive. "He said you…asked for it."

"What?" Arcade's angry inquiry was almost a roar. 

The pink color took up more permanent residence in the sniper's cheeks. "Said you asked to be. That you felt more at home doctoring smug bastards like Caesar. And wanted us to have the caps for the cause." He shrugged one shoulder. "Sounded real when he said it. Only later… Later I got how stupid that…." Boone's voice trailed off.

Arcade ran a hand through his hair, and shook his head back and forth a few times, before finally heaving a deep sigh. "Yeah. Braxton could sell sand to the desert. Okay. So you didn't know about Veronica. And I wasn't a factor. Why'd you leave? You found out he's fighting for the Legion at the Dam?"

"No he isn't."

Arcade's mouth sagged slightly open. His expression could have been used as the definition for incredulous. "But…but…I mean, besides his obvious actions, Caesar himself told me Braxton chose to side with the Legion."

"No." 

"No?" 

Vulpes felt the same burst of surprise he could hear in Arcade's voice. He briefly wondered if he'd have apprehended Braxton's betrayal of Caesar if he'd been paying more attention to his frumentarian duties and less attention to Arcade's predicament. But that was a different life and he had new loyalties now.

"Says he's fighting for NCR at the Dam," Boone stated.

Arcade was shaking his head and muttering, so Vulpes threw in a question of his own. "And are you fighting with the NCR as well?"

"Of course."

"Then why are you here?"

Boone looked off toward the highway. Nonchalant. Like he was just checking for stray fiends. Vulpes recognized a defensive move when he saw it. He wondered what errand could discomfit a sniper.

"Had something to see to here first," Boone growled. "Loose end." He ducked his head.

Arcade suddenly reentered the conversation with a gleeful chirp. "Manny! Finally! You did talk to Manny, didn't you?" At Boone's almost imperceptible nod, which was mostly directed at his boots, the doctor grinned. "There's hope for this rotten world after all."

"Shut up. Especially don't go talking poetry."

Arcade held up his hands in mock surrender. "I won't, I won't."

"I just…I forgave him. That's it."

"Got it. Forgiveness. So that's what the kids are calling it these days."

"Don't make me hit you, Gannon."

A voice that could have matched the best centurion bellow broke across their conversation with, "Arcade! Dinner!" 

They all looked up to see Daisy, leaning out her motel room door. She waved. "Wash up!"

The tips of Arcade's ears had gone bright red. "Right," he called. "I'll be up in a minute." The words caused him to wince.

"Now dear. Tell your little friends you can see them later," she replied as she withdrew.

"Well, now that I'm thoroughly emasculated…. " Arcade sighed, then looked at Boone. "Can you tell me why you did leave Braxton?"

"He took my beret."

Arcade blinked rapidly. "Uhh…what?"

"Took my beret. Wouldn't give it back. I even said please."

"He. Took. Your. Beret."

"Had to get another from McCarran. It's not the same."

"It looks the same."

"It's not."

"And that made you realize he was evil."

"Motherfucker who'd take your beret can't be good."

"Well of course not."

"Arcade Israel, you get in here this minute!" Daisy had reappeared, out on the balcony now, looking grim.

"This is my life? I don't believe this is my life," Arcade muttered. He turned to Vulpes. "Do you have a room yet?"

"I have a room."

"I'll meet you there."

"Assuming the old lady lets you, Arcade Israel," commented Boone.

"Ha ha. Don't make me hit you, Craig."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just FYI - Veronica's fate is canon if you're a cannibalistic Courier.
> 
> And if you know what happened to Boone's wife, you know why he now looks at all receipts. 
> 
> Oh, and if you take Boone's beret from him in game, he will ask for it back. He is not amused.


	5. Chapter 5

"I don't have much time," Arcade announced as he threw open the unlocked door and burst into Vulpes' motel room. "Daisy only let me bring this over after enough whining to shame a three-year-old. She…." He turned toward the bed and his voice died in his throat. 

Vulpes was sprawled on top of the sheets, completely naked.

"She… uh… she…."

Vulpes sat up in one fluid, effortless motion. He was all deadly grace and lean muscle, that one. How could the legionaries think Caesar was a living deity when they had this man in their midst?

"You… umm…."

A dark eyebrow quirked in amusement. "Showered. Yes?"

 _Right. Of course. He wasn't waiting there, lounging on the bed like that, all naked and available, hoping I'd come in._ His brain doesn't work like that. He's not throbbing with perverted, profligate thoughts. _Oh god. Throbbing. What benighted creator thought autonomous cocks were a good idea?_

Arcade turned away to run his forefinger along the top of the motel room's ancient television set like he'd suddenly picked up a new job. Dust inspector. _My, what interesting dust. You have quite a collection here. Blue ribbon stuff._

"Did you wish something of me?"

 _God yes_. "Oh, uh, I remembered about the… umm… the split lip and the ribs…. Thought I'd better slap some antibiotic on you." 

"I do not require your drugs."

"Needless masochism is… pretty hot, actually. But no, it's not a drug. Not like Med-X, I mean. It's just… uh…." What was in this tube? He stared at the cylinder of ointment. If only he could get more blood up where his brain was. "This will prevent infection and aid healing."

"From over there?"

"Errm, no. No, I should probably turn around now. Any second. Hold on."

The motel mattress creaked. Just as he wondered whether Vulpes had lain down again or gotten up, the man appeared at his side.

"Since the mountain will not come to me, I must go to the mountain."

"What mountain?! Oh, you mean all of me. Because I'm tall. Right."

"You are unfamiliar with the saying?"

"No, I know the saying. I was just… distracted. You're surprisingly good with pre-war idioms, y'know."

"I read."

"You're laughing at me again, I can tell by your eyes." 

"Perhaps." The corners of Vulpes' mouth quirked, which Arcade knew was a definite yes. 

He placed the tube of antibiotic on top of the television and bent over to get a better look at his ex-frumentarius's ribcage. And nothing else. Because he was a doctor, dammit. He was a professional. _Concentrate!_

With what he hoped appeared to be an appropriately physician-ish expression, and not like he was suffering from a terrible case of nausea, or depression or something equally off-putting, he struggled keep himself focused on palpating Vulpes' ribs. Some bruising, a little tender, nothing serious. 

"Sorry about the… poetry earlier," he said to Vulpes' midsection, since it was easier than saying it to his face.

"I liked the bit about us defiant at the edge of doom."

"That's not quite…. Y'know, I like that bit, too."

He straightened and, avoiding Vulpes' eyes, gently examined his lip. "I'll just clean this and put some of that ointment on." He nodded toward the tube on top of the television. "It'll sting at first. And you need to leave it on as long as possible. So don't eat or drink for a while or you might accidentally wipe it off."

"Then I should do this now."

With the speed of a striking cazador, Vulpes seized the back of Arcade's neck and, one-handed, pulled the doctor in for a ferocious kiss.

The kiss was wild, teeth clashing and nipping, and tongues…. The cut on Vulpes' lip had opened again. Arcade could taste blood. Or maybe that was his. He'd tried to pull back once on the way to the bed, just checking their trajectory, but Vulpes had bitten down, keeping him right where he wanted him, keeping their mouths mashed together.

Their legs hit the edge of the mattress and Arcade instinctively used his height and experience to land on top. He half-expected Vulpes, pinned on his back beneath Arcade's full weight, to fight him for it. He probably knew six different ways to flip him. But the ex-frumentarius didn't. He never broke their kiss and his iron grip on Arcade's neck never lessened. 

It was too hot in this room. He was wearing too many clothes. He wanted to feel Vulpes' skin against his. He wanted to just feel his skin. His sculpted muscles and ridged scars and fine hair that formed a trail down his lower abdomen and…. He moaned against Vulpes' mouth.

His brain synapses were firing with the same philosophy Arcade used on a 9mm SMG – just spray-and-pray – and his body couldn't make sense of all the information, all the spasms, all the miscues being fired at it. He felt like he wasn't getting anywhere – just flailing his arms - in the panicked enthusiasm of trying to simultaneously shed his shirt and touch that cool skin everywhere he could reach.

From very, very far away a small voice in his head warned that Daisy could interrupt them at any minute. He hadn't locked the door. She might come looking…. That voice drowned in the next rush of pleasure that filled his mind and his being and his aching cock.

He'd managed to get his trousers partially down when he gave up, hips rocking against Vulpes' thigh. Frantic, shambolic, a teenager on Rocket. He'd lost all control over his body. Over most of his mind. His thoughts centered on one goal. If he could just get his hand between them, get hold of Vulpes and work them together.... 

He'd've shot snide comments at himself if his higher brain functions hadn't already left the building. His animal core didn't care. It possessed him, convincing him of the rightness of the urgent need thundering inside him, and of his absolute inability to live if Vulpes didn't continue to touch him.

Because Vulpes was touching him now. While one hand still gripped the back of his neck, holding him prisoner, the other roamed his back, his side, his ass, matching his efforts, responding to him, reciprocating. _Reciprocating._

He'd wanted this for so long. Always fighting not to picture the Legion officer when he was with Braxton. And always in the privacy of his imagination, Vulpes' hands on him, stroking and squeezing. 

And now it was real. 

Pressure escalated inside him. On another day he could have itemized the systems and glands and hydraulics in operation at this second, but right now it was just a maelstrom of exquisite bliss that was too much and _ohgodI'mgonnacomeI'mgonnacomeohgodohgodohgod_. 

He didn't realize he was saying the words aloud until they merged into one long groan of pleasure that rang in his ears well after he collapsed, breathless, glasses askew, unable to move his head from where it had fallen on his lover's hard chest.

He shifted a little, feeling a large enough slick of rapidly drying semen to ascertain Vulpes had followed him over the edge. Silently. Arcade knew he should be feeling abashed at how quick—and how loud—in fact, at what an unconscionably inept partner he had been. But he wasn't. Vulpes' fingers were slowly raking through the hair at the back of his head in short, tender strokes and he felt warm inside and safe. _Safe._

Did he always feel this way after sex? He didn't think so. This seemed different. He didn't care how stuck together they became, or if there was blood smeared down his chin, or if he never brushed his teeth and just stayed here right on 'til morning. This was where he belonged.

Visions of Daisy scolding him for deluding himself danced through Arcade's mind. Why couldn't he have traditional visions of, say, sugar plums or something? 

If he was deluding himself, he didn't want to know. He planned to just hand his heart over on a silver platter and not ask for it back. 

He'd read a quote somewhere, from a girl named Cally, saying a man who trusts can never be betrayed, only mistaken. She'd ended up betrayed and dead, but still. It was a nice ideal and he was going with it. 

Braxton had once accused him of obsessively augmenting his idealism the way a crazy cat lady collects cats. He might actually have been right about that. Although, if someone had collected cats before they went extinct, it would have been a good thing, so really it was a compliment….

"What are you thinking?"

Arcade chuckled. "Of cats. And Braxton. Wish Boone had shot him over that damn beret. But I guess beret-napping isn't a good defense to murder. Especially not when the NCR believes the Courier's their golden boy." He sighed. "Boone thinks Braxton'll spend the pre-battle countdown holed up in the Lucky 38. Hope the elevator breaks."

Vulpes inhaled deeply, and Arcade's head rode the rise and fall of his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. He was heavy, he knew, and Vulpes would probably push him off soon, but for now he enjoyed the connection.

"Tell me. Why were you so certain the Courier's goal was the same as yours?"

"It… it wasn't just pillow talk, if that's what you're thinking. We had actual plans, and I worked hard on ways to make them a reality. I'd scrounged up blueprints, I'd created a framework for municipal… well, it doesn't matter now. But more than that, we had Yes Man."

"Who?"

"A computer who could replace Mr. House and run the Securitron army—you would not believe how many of those robots are lurking under Caesar's Fort—and, well, run basically everything, for us."

"Clever."

"Oh, we didn't create him. That was Benny. He was the one with the original idea to take New Vegas away from Mr. House. He programmed—actually he got a Follower of the Apocalypse to do the programming—sorry, you probably don't care about the computer issues. In short, Benny wanted to take New Vegas away from Mr. House, and he created Yes Man to do the taking."

"Once Benny was dead, Braxton acquired this Yes Man?"

Arcade grunted assent. He was going to need water if this conversation continued. Several bottles of it. _Hello, dehydration._

"So the computer has no loyalty to its master?"

"Uh, no. Come to think of it, I don't think he's ever asked what happened to Benny. He just started taking orders from Braxton."

"Would he take orders from you?"

"I suppose." Despite their sticky skin not wanting to peel apart, Arcade hoisted himself into a sitting position on the bed and straightened his glasses. "He doesn't have any safety protocols. He answers anyone who asks."

"Then our next move is obvious. We will take Yes Man from Braxton. And you shall have your independent New Vegas."

His neck twinged at the speed with which he twisted it to look down at Vulpes. "We take him? But we're not…. We're not… I was the Courier's sidekick and you're the right hand man of a villain. We're not hero material."

"You are."

"Kind of you to say, but there are better people than me around here."

"Still living? I doubt it. In any case, I believe a vast army of battle robots makes us de facto leadership material."

"I don't know…."

"If you would prefer a government with systems already in place, I could take control of the Legion." Vulpes stretched his arms above his head. _Speaking of cats…._ Vulpes looked precisely like a sated, stretching predator. "Assassinating Lanius is problematic but not impossible. Caesar…." There was a long pause during which he stared at the ceiling.

Arcade stood and headed for the sink. He filled the two motel room cups he'd snatched from the dresser on the way over, and returned.

Vulpes was still gazing at the ceiling. For a moment Arcade wasn't sure he knew he was there, but then he resumed speaking. 

"I would rather not be personally responsible for Caesar's death. Unless you demand it. Then…." He shrugged a shoulder. "The deed is, again, not impossible to accomplish." His eyes darted to Arcade's face. "But I rather thought you would reject governing through a pack of degenerate slavers such as us. Such as them," he corrected himself. 

"Well, obviously I'd like my own private Vegas, yes. But this is all useless postulating. We don't even know if Yes Man's still around. Braxton's fighting for the NCR."

Vulpes sat up and took the water Arcade offered. "Braxton is only fighting beside the NCR in order to defeat the Legion. We— _they_ are a far greater threat on New Vegas' doorstep than the NCR. Once the Legion is defeated, he will assuredly turn on his erstwhile allies."

"And how can you be so certain of that?"

"It is what I would do."

"Cold."

"Power is not a fuzzy rainbow."

In the midst of tossing back a swig of water, Arcade's laugh almost resulted in snorting his drink. "Where do you get these sayings? God, I love you. Erhm—in a no-strings-attached and completely informal way, of course. No pressure. In fact, just forget the words even came out of my mouth. Please."

When Vulpes obligingly continued on as if he had not spoken, his heart sank. Dead weight. Right through his intestines. Reminding himself he'd said—in so many words, even—that he wanted his outburst ignored did not help. He hadn't realized just how much he yearned to hear some sort of declaration in response. 

Vulpes was looking at him, piercing eyes awaiting an answer. What had he been saying?

"Uhmm…." No, there was no way to fake a reply. He had no clue what the subject had been. "Repeat that?"

"To summarize, I've gathered the Courier kept his followers as isolated as possible."

Arcade nodded. "Didn't want us comparing notes on him and possibly catching on to his real nature."

"It was also an excellent way of preventing you from forming bonds with each other and ensuring your loyalty remained focused on Braxton, he being your main source of interpersonal contact."

Arcade stared at him. "How'd you…." 

"Again, that is what I would have done. But you seem to be the exception. You knew this Veronica well enough to truly regret her loss. That sniper treats you as a sibling. How did you manage this?"

How indeed? He had a terrible bedside manner with patients. Based on his memory of Boone's one-word responses to his rambling attempts at communication, he would have colored Boone unimpressed with him. And he was certain any article on interpersonal relations he wrote would be summarily rejected by _Meeting People_. So… why? 

"I guess it was because I traveled with Braxton a lot. He'd pick up one person or another depending on skills needed for whatever we were doing, and then send them off on some mission by themselves when it was done. I was the… constant. I don't think he worried much about me 'forming bonds' with them, since he had a… he had a… he had his own special 'bond' going with me. And I was naive and blind and smitten and believed in him."

"Your trusting naivety is part of your charm. It helps people perceive you as harmless. Sarcastic, but harmless."

Arcade grimaced. "Thank you."

"I did not say it was a correct perception. In any case, if you can parlay this goodwill into collecting Braxton's surviving followers, the Remnants of the Enclave, and the Followers of the Apocalypse to our side, we will have support beyond fighting robots. Will their presence make you feel more of a legitimate ruler?"

"There's also the Kings." Warmth stole through Arcade's body as his heart rate increased. "They don't get on with the NCR, so they'd back an independent New Vegas, too."

Arcade started pacing back and forth on the worn carpet, unable to keep still. On one pass he remembered the door and flipped the lock. He had yet to retrieve all his clothing and there was entirely too much naked male flesh in this room for Daisy and her entrenched vision of him as a seven-year-old.

"What do we do first?" he asked, scrounging up a scrap of paper and a bit of broken pencil from one of the dresser drawers.

"Make it impossible for Yes Man to answer to anyone but us."

"Ask him to show us how to install security protocols," Arcade repeated as he scrawled. "Sounds good."

"Have the protocols include him."

"What?"

"Make certain he hasn't the free will to act without our specific permission."

"You're devious."

Vulpes grinned, a small cold smile. "Yes." He rose to his feet and wandered over to the dresser where Arcade stood, pencil ready. "You will need someone to double-check the work, to be certain he has complied."

"I know a Follower who can do that." The glimmer of hope inside Arcade was fighting to become a full-blow fire. He glanced at Vulpes, who appeared calm as ever despite the minor revolution they were planning. "Do you really think we can do this?"

"Let us kill Braxton and find out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Cally (and her quote) referred to is from _Blake's 7_.
> 
> **Headcanon Note:**
> 
> Since the Companions were kept separated, they don't know this but Braxton:
> 
> 1) Convinced Raul *not* to be a vaquero  
> 2) Convinced Lily *not* to take her medicine  
> 3) Betrayed Cass to the Van Graffs
> 
> We already know what he did to Veronica.
> 
> Braxton did fix ED-E and Rex. 
> 
> ED-E is with the Followers of the Apocalypse (because this netted Braxton goodwill from Arcade and was part of his manipulation of Arcade.) 
> 
> Rex is currently with Dr. Henry and will be picked up by our heroes when they collect Dr. Henry as part of reuniting the Remnants.
> 
> Braxton *would* have made Boone bloodthirsty/vengeful over Bitter Springs but Boone left before then.
> 
> Oh, and Braxton massacred the Brotherhood of Steel. The Kings are okay, though.


	6. Chapter 6

With only the subtlest of hitches and shudders, the Lucky 38's elevator chugged its way up the tower to the Presidential Suite. The interior was unnaturally cool, as it was inside all the buildings of New Vegas, and a shiver chased across Vulpes' skin. 

And it annoyed him.

Shivering, flinching, those were signs of a legionary losing his nerve, something he most certainly was not. Granted, his mind would be more at ease if he were alone. 

He glanced over at Arcade. The doctor gave him a weak smile, all the while drumming an erratic tattoo on the grip of his Plasma Defender with his fingertips. 

Leaving Arcade outside in the safe desert heat hadn't been an option. As a former associate of the Courier's, Arcade was their key to Braxton's kingdom. Whether the securitron at the door was Victor or Yes Man, either one would recognize Arcade and allow him entrance to the Lucky 38.

Braxton was apparently still keeping his options open, as Yes Man had not yet been installed. Victor recognized Arcade immediately. Introducing Vulpes as a new follower had gone smoothly as well. The securitron merely expressed his surprise at yet another companion joining the ranks while escorting them to the elevator doors.

Actually, he'd said something about buttering his butt and calling himself a bread product. 

Vulpes had wanted to ask the purpose of such behavior, but Arcade practically shoved him inside the elevator, colliding into his back when he'd resisted, a move that left them tripping over each other, before untangling to retreat to opposite sides of the capsule. 

So maybe it hadn't been a "smooth" entrance, per se. But they were inside.

The elevator bell dinged quietly as the doors rolled open to the Presidential Suite. 

\-------------------

Stomach churning in either excitement or nausea, Arcade stepped into the familiar room. To think he had once regarded this place as home. 

He'd doodled kittens in the margins of both copies of _Today's Physician_. That stain on the carpet was from a food fight with Veronica. And that desk over there had been poorly mended after one of its spindly legs cracked when he'd bent Braxton over it and…. 

The memory was almost painful in the anger and shame it evoked. How had he once thought that man was the answer to everything? He hadn't been the only one the courier had betrayed, but he was here to make sure he was the last.

Where was Braxton, anyway? No cheery voice called out a greeting. Arcade wondered how many followers the man had left, and if they all had reasons to kill him. 

After all, Braxton must have heard the elevator's arrival. Was he running the list of surviving companions through his brain, grasping for explanations or apologies - or just grasping for a gun?

The metallic click of a safety catch being released betrayed Braxton's position. Vulpes took cover against the wall and edged toward the master bedroom, ripper drawn. 

Arcade positioned himself in full view of the open bedroom doorway, Plasma Defender in hand but lowered, in the hope of luring the courier across the threshold and onto Vulpes' blade. 

Braxton cautiously peered around the doorjamb. His eyes alighted on Arcade, only to widen almost comically. The doctor was clearly the last of all people he expected to see. 

Arcade gave a small wave with his free hand. "Hey there." It was the same tone he'd used when he'd discovered Braxton had sold him.

Of all the emotions that flitted across Braxton's face in the few seconds before he regained control—shock, alarm, dread—noticeably absent was any form of happiness or relief. He truly didn't give a damn about Arcade's life, only how it affected his own.

"Yeah. Slavery. Not as permanent as you might think," Arcade continued.

"How'd you get here?" Braxton growled, stepping into the open doorway. "You're Caesar's now."

"No. He's mine," Vulpes said, and with his words went their element of surprise.

Arcade made a mental note to verbally slap him upside the head later. For a spy, he had a curious aversion to underhanded tactics in battle.

Meanwhile, Braxton had whirled to the side, raising his gun in the direction of this new intruder. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Vulpes, as if he knew he'd seen the man before but recognition eluded him. "Your slave?"

"No. Just mine."

Then, with a flick of Vulpes' wrist, the ripper purred in a silver arc and Braxton's gun hand was no longer attached to his arm.


	7. Chapter 7

The ripper seemed to snarl in protest as Vulpes shut it off. He holstered the weapon and silence flooded the room, with the exception of a steady, muffled _pat—pat—pat_ from the blood dripping off his blade to the carpet.

Vulpes turned from the body that had once been the courier and faced Arcade. He seemed absolutely calm. Except for his eyes. As he stalked closer, Arcade could see that strange light still blazed there.

From the moment blood had spurted from the stump of Braxton's arm, Vulpes seemed to have gone very quietly mad. 

There had been a chilling efficiency to his work, which didn't make it any less eerily graceful. He could have taken down a Deathclaw with that ripper. The courier didn't stand a chance. 

Arcade might have been horrified if he didn't remember what Braxton had done to Veronica. His own betrayal he might not have valued at a man's life, but Veronica's… he was willing to take the eye-for-an-eye route to get justice for her.

And now _he_ was the focus of Vulpes' intense gaze. His heart raced. Beads of sweat formed at Arcade's temples, on his upper lip while the room temperature seemed to increase like high noon in the Mojave. 

His fight or flight instincts were kicking in. Apparently his subconscious recognized his being the prey in this scenario, even if he didn't. _Wouldn't_. He knew with the same certainty you need Nuka-Cola to craft super-stimpaks that Vulpes would never harm him.

So Arcade held still, waiting. 

Vulpes was an arm's length away now, eyes burning. He grasped Arcade's face, fingers biting into his skin as he cradled Arcade's jaw with both hands and pulled him into a firm but surprisingly languorous kiss.

Slow, almost scarily slow, were the lips and tongue moving against his. He returned the caresses at the same pace, feeling almost outside himself, waiting for the dam of Vulpes' composure to buckle and the violence he had witnessed – still saw splattered about the walls and carpeting - to surge and roar through its cracks. 

Vulpes broke the kiss, his hands moving to seize Arcade's shoulders, his mouth lowering so his teeth could nip at Arcade's jaw. A nudge forced his head back, urging him to bare his throat. Arcade obeyed. 

Vulpes' lips slid down to latch onto his neck, and from the painful suction Arcade knew his dermal capillaries were breaking. Another wounding kiss followed, and another, this time accompanied by the pinch of teeth, all of them marching across the vulnerable skin of his throat, right in a row. 

No, a ring. Marks of ownership. He was going to be wearing his own purpling bruises like a slave collar. And the thought was not as unsettling as it should have been. In fact, the heavy, pulling feeling in his groin said his body was quite happy about it, thank you very much.

"Down on your knees." Vulpes' command was a slide of dark honey in the room's hush.

Nerves made Arcade chuckle. "Normally I take the dominant role in my relationships. But I make it a point never to argue with a man wearing that much blood spatter."

The pressure of Vulpes' palms on his shoulders pushed him to the floor. He went willingly.

He wasn't normally like this. Both physically and mentally stronger than many of his peers, he liked to regard himself as quietly rebellious - and cerebral enough to be above base animal responses. He should not yearn to be utterly owned by the man who had been gnawing on his collarbone. Maybe the music was influencing him.

Music? The end of the fight had brought them inside the guest room, where Arcade now realized the radio was playing, very, very quietly, from the far wall. A Vera Keyes song. Something about letting go.

And that's precisely what he did. 

\-----------------

Vulpes' last coherent thought is to pull out. Much as he wants to feel that mouth, Arcade's wondrously talented mouth, and the swirl of his tongue, as he swallows around him, swallows him down, this is about more than pleasure. 

This is about possession.

He wants to, needs to mark this man as his, to see Arcade wearing his cum. 

The craving is as unfamiliar as it is urgent. This is somewhere he's never been before and can't get to soon enough. But only with Arcade. Only for Arcade. 

_Mineminemine_

When the crisis takes him he can't exactly aim. It's all he can do to clench his jaw and keep from yelling out his pleasure, sure that if he relents, his vociferous moans will echo down the concrete canyon of the Strip.

Painting Arcade in pulses….

Eyebrow.

Forelock.

Cheek.

Lips.

Neck.

Chin.

Weak as a newborn pup, he watches, awed, at the viscous liquid's sluggish trail down Arcade's cheek, the slow drip of it from a thick splatter in his bright hair.

He fixes the image in his mind, Arcade all mussed and his glasses askew. Out of breath but grinning from ear to ear. 

When he goes into battle at the Dam, this will be one of the memories he'll hold foremost in his mind. If Mars is truly the god of soldiers, he will not care on which side he fights, only that he fights with honor. And perhaps if his death is heroic enough he will be granted a vision of Arcade emblazoned on the inside of his eyelids for eternity. 

Because that exultant look on Arcade's face is a prize beyond caps or gold, as is his warm laughter as he declares, "You really know how to sweep a bachelor off his feet."


	8. Chapter 8

The chandelier's light made the fine hair on the back of Arcade's thigh glow a miraculous gold, brighter than the mutant bull on Caesar's standard. Vulpes indulged in a bit of what, admittedly, he could only classify as profligate behavior—allowing his gaze to methodically follow the line of the doctor's leg up over the curve of his firm ass, down the short, sharp slope to the small of his back, pausing at the dimples to either side of the base of his spine, then sweeping along the gradual incline up his back, past ribs, over dorsal muscles to Arcade's broad shoulders. 

He knew precisely where to slip a blade if he wanted a quick puncturing of the sleeping man's heart, or perhaps a more playful collapsing of a lung. He knew where to locate the doctor's kidneys for an incapacitating punch, or the hamstrings to swiftly cripple him. He knew where to strike for the minimum amount of cleanup, and where to slash to send an unnervingly bloody message to those who'd find the body.

Just a collection of targets, that's all bodies were, and of little worth otherwise. 

Why lying near this particular body made his heart beat faster, made his viscera feel like they were floating, he wasn't certain he wanted to fully admit. But his visual exploration of the doctor's fair skin, constantly hidden from the ravages of the Mojave sun and carrying no old wounds to mar it, persuaded him that were any weapon to so much as nick Arcade, he would feel the wound's pain as well.

"How does one live in the Wasteland and maintain such pristine skin?"

Arcade's muffled grumble into his pillow might have been something to do with sleeping. 

Unused to his words being unheeded, Vulpes repeated the question, adding the word profligate to the end. That pejorative unfailingly seized people's attention.

The doctor chuckled, more of a series of snorts, really, hampered as he was by the pillow, and rolled to face him.

"Regular bathing, wearing proper adult attire, and avoiding whips. It's remarkably easy to do if you're not Legion."

Arcade watched as Vulpes rose from the bed and paced between the two master wardrobes, inspecting their selections of clothing. He moved with an animal indifference to his state of undress, confident strides highlighting his musculature. 

"The Followers' university could have used you in my anatomy class." Arcade sat up, pulling the bed-sheet close about him. "Or maybe not. Too distracting."

Vulpes settled on a Pre-War spring outfit of red shirt and brown trousers. "Where is Braxton's armory?" 

"Armory? Why? Are we going to rob the Omertas and give to the poor of Freeside?"

Vulpes buttoned the shirt all the way up to his throat. "We are going to slay Mr. House."

Regret formed a familiar cold lump in the pit of Arcade's stomach. "We've lost the chance to do that. Only Braxton could get up there."

Vulpes' brows rose inquisitively. He didn't seem bothered by this news in the least, just awaiting an explanation. As if the more facts he acquired the more obvious the solution would be. Arcade wondered what it must be like to have that sort of self-confidence. 

"Mr. House didn't wish to be bothered by us lower beings," he continued. "He spoke only with Braxton. The elevator doors don't open on the penthouse floor for anyone else. I tried once. Even sweet-talking Victor didn't work, and I can pitch some quite compelling chat when it comes to machines."

Vulpes chose more Pre-War clothing from the wardrobe and brought the grey shirt and blue jeans to Arcade. "The Securitron escorted Braxton?"

"Umm.... Underwear? You may not be subject to chafing, but my delicate, no, what was it? _Pristine_ skin is."

While Vulpes rummaged through the nightstand drawers, Arcade answered his question. "At first. Then he stopped coming and Braxton went up alone."

Clean underwear found, Vulpes tossed the garment to Arcade. "So there was a way of identifying the courier." He glanced toward the doorway, and Braxton's body beyond. "Get dressed. I'll grab Braxton's head and that hand."

"What?"

"I am aware of facial recognition systems, retinal scans, iris readers, and fingerprints. Are there other forms of identification not located within those two body parts?"

"Good point. Wait. The chip. He always carried that platinum poker chip. It'll be on his body somewhere. Bring it, too. Have you seen my lab coat? How'd it get all the way over there? Oh, and guns are in the guest room footlocker."

Arcade joined Vulpes at the footlocker, which proved to contain a jumble of weapons and magazines.

" _Programmer's Digest_! Computers shall fear my transient hacking skills!" Arcade stuffed the magazine in his lab coat pocket. "If you're looking for something to melt Securitrons, I recommend plasma. In fact, you can have my Plasma Defender. I want this." He reached into the footlocker and held up an odd-looking blaster. "The design's sort of… alien." He laughed. "I think I could do a lot of damage with this gun."

"Then we are prepared. When the penthouse doors open, I shall lead. Use me as cover."

"You're still quite scary when you say things like that with a straight face."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you give Arcade the Alien Blaster in game, he does do quite a bit of damage. :)


	9. Chapter 9

"Time to get Yes Man," Arcade declared with more confidence than he felt, as he gazed at the abomination that had once been Robert House. Even as he was dying, House's words had been cruel. A vanity project? Was that really what he'd embarked on? 

"House was wrong. New Vegas is in need your benevolent dictatorship," Vulpes stated quietly. 

Damn the man for reading his thoughts. "I don't want to be dictator of anything. I just…" _I just want a place where I can be safe._ How many times had he wished that as a child? Always on the move, always hiding from his family's Enclave past. "Maybe it's not vanity, maybe it's self-interest. But is it too much to ask to have an independent island of tolerance in this desert of killing and cannibalism and war?"

Arcade marched away, so Vulpes decided he did not expect his question to be answered. They rode the elevator down to the casino level in silence. 

Exiting the Lucky 38 brought them back into the baking embrace of the Mojave sun. Profligate tourists, cavorting prostitutes, all unaware an Old World empire had just fallen and a new regime was consolidating its power. Their continuing freedom to debauch themselves they owed to the doctor. They should be bowing before Arcade, grateful their miserable lives weren't being ended on a cross. But Arcade didn't want their tribute, so Vulpes said nothing.

Soon the doctor was crossing the street toward the large metal Securitron with the inordinately pleased expression waiting outside the Tops casino, purpose adding speed to his already long strides – and contributing to his completely missing the man approaching them from the opposite sidewalk.

Vulpes moved to cut the interloper off. Arcade could fetch Yes Man. He would deal with this.

"Traitor." Alerio sneered, stopping in front of him. "Did you think great Caesar could not find you? His reach extends even into this den of iniquity."

"Of course it does," Vulpes murmured in his most condescending tone. 

Everything Caesar knew of New Vegas had been due to Vulpes' surveillance work. As commander of the Frumentarii, he had chosen this as his patch. And it rather disturbed him that Alerio had inherited it. The man was not up to the challenge. Caesar would receive superficial information at best.

Alerio chuckled. "The fearless Vulpes Inculta, hiding here among the weak and sinful-- "

"I was not hiding."

"Like seeks out like, I suppose." Alerio grinned maliciously. "And where is the slave you gave up your freedom, your station, and your manhood for?"

Each word was meant to wound, so Vulpes attempted to ignore them—and the twinge of sorrow they caused. He could feel the tiny emotion squirm inside him, that sorrow for the loss of what had been the only family he could remember, that sorrow for abandoning his leader, who had saved him from death and believed in his abilities. 

He hadn't looked on his actions as betraying the Legion, but perhaps he'd always known he could never return. Now it was real. Alerio's presence confirmed his exclusion.

His only surprise was at how minimal his reaction to this was.

Indeed, what had his fists clenched in anger was his overwhelming need to defend Arcade from this enemy who was inquiring about the doctor's location.

"You will speak only to me. And you will fight only with me." Vulpes eyed a passing Securitron. Unfortunately they would not be able to end this here. Any violence on The Strip would activate the robots' defense programming.

"Legion does not kill Legion. Oh, but wait, you're not Legion anymore."

"So they send a Frumentarius to do the work of an assassin?"

Alerio bristled. "Officially, you're not important enough to send assassins after. Unofficially, anyone who brings back your head is guaranteed promotion. I'm guessing that to take you alive for public crucifixion would mean gifts of luxuries beyond dreaming."

Vulpes knew what that meant. Use of the auto-doc, for one. "My death for siding with a Profligate would result in your making use of items created by Profligates. That does not seem odd to you? Their everyday items are our rewards."

"Don't try to poison me against Caesar with your words. I won't listen."

Just then the happy machine rolled up, followed by Arcade. The doctor's gaze raked over Alerio, but he didn't speak. As the spy dressed in a Pre-War suit, there was no reason for Arcade to question Alerio's being anything other than yet another gambler.

Alerio revealed his true allegiance himself, glaring at the doctor, disgust plain on his face. "Inculta, you should have killed yourself before letting this piece of profligate scum infect you."

Arcade grinned. "It must be very upsetting for the Legion that there's no inoculation against free will. Or democracy, come to that."

"You two had better hope to die at Hoover Dam," Alerio said, eyes narrowed and mouth twisted with scorn. "Because when the Legion wins, we're going to seek you out, and your torments will be exquisite. In fact, Inculta, you suck men now, don't you? I believe I shall partake of your services—publicly—before your crucifixion. A final demonstration of your degradation and subservience, and that your rank now belongs to me."

Vulpes allowed an expression of mild surprise to cross his countenance. "Lord Caesar made _you_ leader of the Frumentarii? I would have thought Cato Hostilius more suitable. Perhaps the doctor did not thoroughly cure Caesar's brain of its illness."

"And on that note…." Arcade raised an arm. "MP!" Several broad waves got the attention of an NCR military police officer down the street. "Over here!"

"You dissolute son of a diseased whore," Alerio muttered, stepping away from them, while keeping an eye on the MP and his cattle prod.

"You'd better run. They're known for seeing through disguises," Arcade replied quietly, then yelled, "This man is being… illegal! Most illegal!"

"Dealing jet," Vulpes suggested.

"Yes! Err… Jet dealer!" Arcade waved some more and pointed toward Alerio. "Right here! Selling jet to soldiers!"

The MP was staring now, and he was not alone. The commotion could hardly fail to escape notice. The MP took a few steps toward them.

"Just wait. You will beg me to let you die." Alerio spat before turning and walking briskly in the opposite direction.

"That was amazing!" blurted the Securitron. "You did a super job of handling a delicate situation by thoroughly embarrassing yourself! 

"Shut up," Arcade grumbled. He stalked toward the Lucky 38 and Vulpes fell into step at his side.

"Yes! Show me you're the boss!" Yes Man wheeled behind them. "You're very masterful, and I'm not just saying that because I have to!"


	10. Chapter 10

“Wow! Mr. House had quite a set-up here! I can access his databanks and view telemetry on every Securitron on the network!” Yes Man chortled, his smiling face staring down at Arcade and Vulpes from the massive central screen. “And…yes! Every Securitron on the network has been upgraded! Pretty neat, huh? The Securitrons at the Fort are on standby. They’ll be all ready to go once we boost my transmitting power and bring them on line with the network.”

“How do we accomplish that?” Vulpes asked.

“This gadget I'm handing you is called an override module! Take the module to the El Dorado Substation and attach it the power control terminal! I'll handle the rest!”

Arcade located the El Dorado Substation on their map. “Do you think there’ll be cazadors? I _hate_ cazadors.”

“Hey! Someone is knocking on the Lucky 38’s front door! It’s Emily Ortal! She was friends with Benny! Should I let her in? Or should one of the Street Securitrons kill her? It’s all good!”

“Let her in,” Arcade yelped. “She’s invited. She’s here to… visit you.”

“Isn’t that nice? She’s in! Oh, a man wearing a beret came with her. Is that all right? Am I a bad robot?”

“That’s… I think that’s fine.” Arcade turned to Vulpes, eyebrows raised. “Boone?” 

The mystery guest did indeed turn out to be Boone, who congratulated them on executing Braxton and, while Emily adjusted Yes Man’s security protocols to Vulpes’ specifications, told them about a plot he’d stumbled upon involving chlorine gas and the Omertas. He didn’t say what he’d been doing at Gomorrah at the time and Arcade didn’t ask.

“We’ll have to deal with the Omertas. Now. This can’t wait.” Arcade sighed. “Much as I’d like to _personally_ inflict retribution on the White Glove Society for their role in Veronica’s death, I’m pretty sure we can rely on the Securitrons and The Chairmen to successfully eliminate those scumbags when the battle for the Dam starts. But we can’t take that chance with the Omertas. If chlorine gas were to be released, civilian casualties would be astronomical.”

“Omertas are a bunch of sadists. No better than slavers,” growled Boone. “Be a pleasure to take them out.”

“No.” Vulpes spoke with quiet authority. “Assassinating this Clanden and the Omertas’ top echelon without notice, without panic and without outside speculation, requires finesse. I shall accomplish this. Do we have a tribe in mind to replace them?”

“Try the Vipers,” Emily called over her shoulder. “They’re allied with mole rats.”

“Is…that a new gang?” asked Arcade.

“No, the animal,” she replied, almost as merrily as Yes Man. Vulpes could see now where that personality might have come from. “They’re cute, right? Those little, red, whiskered faces! Any tribe who takes the time to make friends with animals can’t be all bad.”

“Vipers it is, then.” Arcade was using his ‘ _this is insane, I can’t believe I’m agreeing with you people_ ’ tone which always made Vulpes smile.

“Strategically, we cannot have The Chairmen running all three casinos,” Vulpes reminded him. “Internecine bickering between the casinos keeps them from forming a united front against your rule.” 

“ _HIS_ rule? Arcade? What’s going on?” Boone’s gruff voice sounded even more dangerous when alarmed.

“Nothing, nothing, ignore him. He’s from Arizona.”

“Utah.”

“ _The Legion_ , is what I meant.” Arcade glared in Vulpes’ direction, instead of thanking him for the correction. “They’re always talking about ruling this and subjugating that. Means nothing.”

Boone scowled at Vulpes. Arcade had introduced him to Boone as ‘Mr. Fox’ again, but Vulpes was fairly certain the NCR man knew whom he was. They maintained this polite fiction so Arcade would not have to witness the death of a friend. 

Difficult as it was for Boone to not attack a mere anonymous former legionary, it would be impossible for him to permit the infamous Vulpes Inculta to drawn breath in his presence, whether Vulpes had turned his back on Caesar or not. Vulpes would be forced to kill him, in self defense of course, but as that action would sadden Arcade, it was to be avoided. 

“You and the sniper go to El Dorado and install the override module,” he told Arcade.

“What is this for? Gannon, if you're an enemy of the NCR, you’re an enemy of mine.”

“It will help defeat the Legion,” Arcade said. “Honestly. It will help defeat the Legion and keep the citizens of the Mojave safe, now and in the future.” He spread his arms in a somewhat helpless and imploring manner. “Please, Craig. It’ll save lives.”

“I’ll be damned before I betray NCR soldiers,” the sniper muttered stubbornly. He turned on Vulpes. “Becoming a disloyal traitor may be easy for you, legionary, but not for me.”

“Frumentarius,” Vulpes corrected calmly, as if the taunt were beneath his dignity to notice. “We merely ask that you distract your NCR colleagues. Use your words.” That was delivered with a particularly good sneer. “Arcade will need no assistance installing the module. Certainly not from the scientifically-challenged likes of you.” 

“And what will you be doing, Fox?” Arcade’s panicked tone clearly indicated he only asked to prevent Boone from launching a response, whether invective or a fist.

“I shall visit Gomorrah—“

“Just going to walk in through the front door?” asked Boone. “That your vaunted _finesse,_ is it?”

“ _Undercover_. I have executed such missions there before. They will assume I am targeting one of their other guests. I will get close to Clanden—“

“And then murder him when he least expects it!” Yes Man interjected cheerfully. 

Vulpes let his mouth curl in a small grin. That machine was growing on him.

“Won’t the Omertas know you defected?” The NCR man’s belligerent suspicion was getting to be annoying. 

“They might have noticed my absence, but I sincerely doubt they were told the reason for it. Both Caesar and the Omertas would see such an admission as a sign of weakness.”

“Right!” Arcade clapped his hands together, voice tense but forcing himself to sound jolly. “So we have our plans. Emily, are you finished? Good, then we’ll escort you out as we go. Let’s do this.”

“A pulled trigger’s a happy trigger!” Yes Man called after them. 

——————————

“Gomorrah. It’ll be our secret.” Mr. New Vegas’s voice slithered over the speaker system as Arcade and Boone entered the Brimstone strip club. 

After the flawless installation of the override module, Boone had convinced Arcade, against his better judgment, that they should try to meet up with ‘Mr. Fox’ at Gomorrah in case he needed backup. 

To this end, Boone asked the girl behind the Brimstone bar about Big Sal’s whereabouts.

 “Shhh!” she replied. “The show’s about to start.” She pointed toward the raised platform.

On it, a man sauntered to center stage, dressed in a dark suit, a white shirt with long string tie, a dark fedora hat, and heavily tinted authority sunglasses. Other than being cleaner and more confident, he looked like any other gambler come to ogle the girls—if one hadn't noticed his bare feet. 

The spotlight hit him, revealing his black trousers to be tight leather, gleaming slick and shiny. 

Also revealing him to be Vulpes.

Arcade's lips parted in a shocked gasp. 

Music kicked on and Vulpes twisted out of his suit jacket like he was distracting a Brahmin bull with it, flourishing the fabric before letting it fly into the already cheering audience. 

He'd obviously performed a set earlier and attracted an enthusiastic fan base, because women flocked to the edge of the stage as soon as he appeared. His fedora and his string tie soon followed the jacket, sailing out into the audience, and received the same warm welcome.

Next came the dress shirt. His fingers lingered on the buttons as he eased them through their holes, teasing the audience with his meticulous care. 

Suddenly the shirt whipped off, timed with an accented chord, and he was down on his knees and up again like a primed vertibird, thighs tensing, hips swiveling, and all the while his expression remained cold, his face utterly impassive, as if his effect on the joyously shrieking audience meant nothing to him. 

Then he crawled to the pole.

Arcade knew that wiry frame intimately, those compact muscles defined by rigorous use, and objectively he knew what that body could be called upon to do, the fearsome feats of violence, swift, brutal, yet always supremely controlled, that it would reliably perform again and again, with reserves of endurance that would be considered impressive for someone with the benefits of Enclave breeding, let alone one birthed in the wasteland. 

But to see that strength used so… _poetically._

Every motion was a defiance of gravity. He suspended his body aloft by leverage of his arms alone, floating there, then completed a slow sideways walk around the pole like air had become solid. At a surprise meter change, he spun into a series of swift scissors and splits, long, black-clad legs doing things Arcade was going to revisit in his imagination forever.

It was all classically gymnastic and shockingly sexy. 

Heat crept up Arcade's face. It felt wrong, practically shameful to be objectifying such an artistic performance for sexual pleasure and yet it was impossible for his thoughts _not_ to go there.

“I'm not sure how I feel about this,” Boone muttered. Apparently Arcade wasn’t alone in this dilemma. 

Arcade didn’t answer, knowing precisely how _he_ felt about it, and surreptitiously tugged his Followers coat to camouflage his lap in case Boone glanced his way.

It was then that, knees spread wide, thighs sinuously thrusting as he practically fucked the floor, Vulpes removed his authority glasses and his eyes met Arcade’s. The resultant sudden, unstoppable pull at his insides made Arcade groan aloud. 

He blushed furiously when Boone elbowed his side.

“That’s Clanden,” Boone whispered, subtly pointing at a sleazy, goateed man in a sweater vest. 

“Has anyone seen Nero? Or Big Sal? I need to speak with them,” Clanden was saying to the girl behind the bar. “Are they off disposing of a body? Because there’s bloodstains in their offices, but no them.”

Arcade and Boone traded a significant glance. Part of the plan had been accomplished before they arrived, then.

Excited screams from the audience drew Clanden’s attention to the stage. His eyes widened slightly at whatever move Vulpes was doing and he gave a low whistle. “That’s tasty.”

Arcade turned but just too late. Darkness slammed across the stage and the music stopped. The performance had ended. 

As Arcade watched, Vulpes made his way through the applauding, congratulatory crowd toward Clanden. The next part of the plan was already in motion. 

“See?” Arcade nodded toward where Vulpes and Clanden now huddled. He’d told Boone Vulpes wouldn’t need backup. He moved closer anyway.

“…I thought maybe I could be your next _playtoy_.” Vulpes’ voice was a seductive hiss. “Your exploits are well known.”

“Well, look at you! It's so rare I get a volunteer.” Clanden’s eager gaze ran up and down Vulpes’ body, and he licked his lips. “Yes, let's head to my special room. Follow me, we'll talk there.” He had yet to turn and start walking, however, as if his brain and his body weren’t quite operating together. With his index finger, he drew a caressing line down Vulpes’ chest, linking Vulpes’ many scars. “You look like a tough piece of meat.”

“It has been said.”

“I’m going to enjoy tenderizing you.” Clanden was practically drooling. 

Never had Arcade so wished to abandon a methodical plan and embark on a murderous rampage instead. It must have shown on his face, because Boone gently took hold of his arm. 

“You’re right. He’s got this.”

Arcade nodded, but kept close watch as Vulpes followed Clanden out of Brimstone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Vulpes Inculta Pole Dancing chapter that nobody asked for. I'm so sorry. I'm trash.
> 
> Also: The "he's from Arizona" thing is a Fawlty Towers reference.
> 
> And it's canon that the Vipers are allied with mole rats.


	11. Chapter 11

Arcade and Boone stood on the sidewalk outside Gomorrah, watching the giant flames and waiting for Vulpes to finish his savage work inside. 

Suddenly Boone broke the companionable silence with a terse statement, “The NCR won’t take kindly to what you’re planning.” He didn’t look at Arcade, just continued to watch the Gomorrah’s fires. 

Arcade’s pulse kicked into high gear while his stomach plummeted into a radioactive bomb crater. What did Boone know? To which of his many sins did he refer? Was he about to be arrested on Gomorrah’s doorstep? Because that would just be hideously embarrassing. 

“What?… I don’t…? What…?” 

“At the Dam. You’re going to fight the Legion, but not so the NCR can control the Mojave and annex New Vegas.”

“Ah.” 

Nope, the NCR wouldn’t take kindly to that. Of course, if they knew about his family’s Enclave background, the NCR would prosecute him for war crimes _simply for existing._

“Did you think I wouldn’t figure it out?” Boone growled.

“No. But I hoped you wouldn’t.” Arcade took a deep breath. “I didn’t want you to feel you were being disloyal to anyone. There’s really no conflict of interest. I don’t want to hurt anybody. I just want everyone to be safe.” _Even me._

“The NCR came here to secure the land, so people could live without fear.”

 _Also for taxes, to fund their growing imperialist policies._ Arcade decided not to voice that thought, though.

He knew the history of the NCR, how it tried to balance its ideals with pragmatism, and there was a chance whoever replaced Kimball might correct the way their policies were headed. But it could never be _home_ to Arcade, not when an accident of birth meant he’d always be a breath away from indefinite incarceration or immediate death. 

There was no way to explain that to Boone, however. 

“I’m just going to ask them to leave,” Arcade said quietly, staring at the battered sidewalk. 

“That the way your legionary wants to handle it, too?”

Arcade’s head snapped up in response to the brusque challenge. “Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. He wants what I want. He may secretly hate the NCR, he may dream of mass murder, I don’t know. But he’s agreed to help me keep this little corner of the world safe, _independent_ , and he won’t go back on his word. Because… He just won’t.” 

Arcade scuffed his boot against a stained bit of nearby concrete. Was that blood? Could blood stain concrete? 

“Arcade…” Boone began, but Arcade interrupted.

“I know that sounded like the worst romantic drivel. That doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

Boone coughed and looked away, biting his lip. 

Arcade waited. The silence lengthened. Just when Arcade thought he might finally speak, instead Boone merely leaned sideways a little and squeezed Arcade’s arm.

In that moment, Arcade felt terribly sad for him. 

Boone was a strong, thoughtful, but very lonely man, filled with deep and complex emotions he could never articulate, not without compromising the version of himself he thought others needed to perceive. 

Arcade hoped he’d go back to Manny and Novac when the battle for the Dam was done.

“Take care of yourself, Craig.” He turned and hugged Boone, quick and simple. “It’s okay. You don’t have to stay.”

Boone swiveled on heel to leave, walked about three steps, and turned back. "A murderer who does good deeds is still a murderer.” 

“I know.”

“I didn’t mean you.”

Arcade laughed, a mirthless little chuckle. “I could be, though. In the end, the Mojave makes you a murderer or makes you dead. I get to keep my idealism and my clean hands because _he’s_ willing to take all the blood on his.”

“Too willing.”

“Nobody’s perfect.”

“He’s living on borrowed time, awaiting judgment. Same as me.”

“No.” Arcade strode over to grasp Boone’s shoulders, seeds of horror burgeoning within him, ice and panic, at the thought of Vulpes death. At Boone’s death. “Neither of you are living on borrowed time. And neither of you deserve to die.” He tried to meet Boone’s eyes through his tinted sunglasses. “You’re thinking about Bitter Springs.”

Boone scowled savagely. “Always. Even when I sleep.” He glared at Arcade, then his gaze darted away. “I’m just saying. I’ve got bad things coming to me. And _my_ karma got Carla killed. So I see what’s happening here. I don’t want you to be collateral damage to _his_ just desserts.”

“Life's not like that.”

“Yes it is. Something’s always watching you, when you’re happy, waiting to take it all away from you, and it never loses….”

Arcade grabbed Boone and hugged him tight. 

Joshua Graham would have had something to say to this, some way of delivering his Old World religion that would’ve been of comfort to Boone. Arcade felt inadequate to the task. Boone had known him too long. He’d end up sounding pompous or ridiculous, and Boone would just think it was silly Arcade quoting ancient books again. 

“Craig. I have to believe that… living with what we’ve done…. That’s our punishment. We can’t take anything back no matter how much we want to. So… trying to make amends, using our repentance as fuel to make the world a better place… that’s all we can do. That has to be enough.”

He held on to Boone as the man slowly gathered the broken pieces of his composure. And he continued to hold him until Boone wiggled uncomfortably. 

“You can let go, Gannon.”

“Not until I hear some sort of response.”

“Yeah. I guess you’re right. There’s still some things I got to do, anyway. Kill more Legion, for one."

“Exactly.” He released Boone, who stepped back a pace. “Good luck. I mean that.”

“Yeah.” Boone glanced back up at the fires. “I won’t look for you two on the battlefield.”

“That’s good, because I expect bloody and terrified is not a great look on me.”

A tiny smile played at the edge of Boone’s lips. “You’ve always been a cheeky son of a bitch, Gannon.” He turned toward The Strip North Gate and trudged away a few feet before calling back, “Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“Must be a hell of a thing to have someone with his ability looking out for you.”

Arcade grinned. He knew to whom the pronoun referred and he knew an olive branch when he heard it. “It is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boone is now in his 1st Recon Survival Armor and will get the _No Gods, No Masters_ happy ending, where he remains in New Vegas. Or Novac. Wherever. I want that gruff little teddy bear to be happy.
> 
> In this universe, [Arcade met Joshua Graham here. ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8018758/chapters/18470899)


	12. Chapter 12

As Arcade descended the stairs of the Lucky 38 Penthouse, Yes Man was happily nattering away to the room at large while Vulpes had the parts of his ripper spread out upon the large coffee table nearby and was systematically reconditioning them before installing new carbide teeth.

"The Lucky 38’s reactor is running at full-tilt!” continued Yes Man. “Now watch this — I'm downloading the Mark II OS to all the Securitrons on the network. Makes quite a difference! Missiles! Grenades! Super combat effectiveness! And auto-repair! Just try to hurt us now! Vegas will be protected!”

Vulpes didn't look up from his work. “Continue to monitor the Mojave’s data transmissions and encrypted messages.”

“Great idea! I'm quite a decrypter!”

Arcade flopped into a chair beside Vulpes, huffing out a burst of air in the same instant the seat cushion did in protest of being flatttened. 

Vulpes raised an eyebrow and looked at him.

“Julie agreed to support us,” Arcade began. “Well, _Freeside_ , when we take the Dam. The Kings are with us, as well.”

“You’re so marvelous at this!” raved Yes Man from behind them.

“I left ED-E protecting the Followers, and Other ED-E will also support Old Mormon Fort once he verifies the Boomers are dropping their bombs on the Legion.”

“You’re going to be a _fantastic_ dictator!”

Slowly Arcade let himself drop toward an empty space on the table in front of him until the wood smacked his forehead. “Head. Desk. I’m just going to remain this way for a while. Don’t mind me.”

“You are going to be an _appalling_ dictator,” Vulpes said, returning to cleaning his ripper. “You’re going to be President Tandi with twice the ideals and half the pragmatism. You’re going to question your every motivation and spend sleepless nights putting every decision you ever made through repetitive and unnecessary postmortems. You’re going to wonder if you should give the right of self-determination to people one step away from eating each other.” He glanced at Arcade. “The answer to that is no. That should not be done.” Turning his attention back to his task, he continued, “You will be the least authoritarian autocrat ever. I’m willing to be quoted on that.”

Arcade inhaled happily, sitting up and stretching back in his chair. “Please always be here to tell me I’m terrible at this.”

“It shall be my favorite pastime. Now. Did you speak to the Remnants? 

“Yes. Daisy, Judah, and Dr. Henry were onboard immediately. That reminds me, I sent Rex and Roxie to help the Kings. I think we should send them some Securitrons, too. Since the Omertas are gone and the Vipers are backing us on The Strip along with The Chairmen, I reckon we could spare a few Securitrons.” 

Vulpes nodded. “And Cannibal Johnson?”

“Not-Actually-A-Cannibal Johnson has agreed to come to the Bunker. As has Orion Moreno. Johnson doesn’t think a _’kid’_ like me should be in charge and Orion thinks it should be _you,_ but I’m hoping once everyone’s together, we can convince the whole group to support us.”

“I’m sure you're right!” Yes Man gushed. “I mean, for one thing, it's you saying it, and you always know what you're talking about!”

Arcade winced. “You proclaim that so sincerely, and yet….” 

“Bring your ripper to me,” said Vulpes, ignoring Yes Man's outburst, “and I shall install upgrades upon it.” 

Arcade brought his ripper. 

As it happened, both Arcade's improved ripper and his alien blaster came on their journey to the Remnants’ Bunker, although the trip turned out to be uneventful and Arcade was pleased not to have to use either.

“Hello, Arcade,” Daisy warbled happily, gathering him into her frail arms for a hug. Judah also greeted him warmly.

“You two still together, are you?” Daisy asked, eyeing Vulpes with distaste.

“Riveted at the hip. Shall I show you the holes? _No!_ No, no, no! I didn’t mean it like that, I meant just… just…. Should I fetch you a glass of water? Daisy?”

Surprisingly, it was Orion Moreno who got the situation back under control, distracting everyone with several rounds of “kids these days” and how they couldn’t speak clearly for the life of them, and how his yard had never been the same since the NCR moved in. Had they seen what they’d done to his white picket fence? Also, why wasn’t the Bunker better stocked with comestibles? Because if you hiked all the way out here, you should at least get some Fancy Lad Snack Cakes for your trouble.

While Judah made sure everyone was supplied with water, Arcade stood as close as he could to Vulpes, drawing strength from his proximity as he fought to calm his burning, blushing skin.

“Well. That was excruciating. I think we should go back to the Sierra Madre. Begin again. Fun times.”

“Elijah wanted to brutally murder you.”

“As I said. Comparatively—fun times.” Arcade glanced at the Remnants, talking quietly amongst each other while the giant wall screen clacked and hummed. “You should talk to them. Convince them to support us. You could convince anybody of anything.” 

“It was _your_ father they knew and respected.”

“I doubt they see much of my father in me.”

“Then make them see.” Vulpes did not speak loudly, yet gave his words such inflection that the Remnants would ‘accidentally’ overhear. Because he wanted them to overhear. “If the Enclave had any redeeming value, it was in the creation of you. If they have any scraps of loyalty in their souls, whether to your father or to the Enclave itself, they should obey your orders. If they care anything for their own freedom, and the freedom of every individual in the Mojave, they should get on their knees and pray to Mars that you are victorious.”

With his back toward the Remnants, Arcade ducked his head toward Vulpes and whispered, “You are… just… _reprehensibly_ good at manipulation.” He pressed his lips together to hide the small smile playing there. “I completely felt that was sincere.”

“It was sincere. And singularly lacking in blood metaphors, so I may be losing my touch.” 

“Oh, no, the lack of gore was part of what sold it, I thought.”

“Good. Speak with them," Vulpes said, and left to wait with the vertibird. His presence would not help things, no matter what Arcade thought.

He watched Arcade in the small command room, talking passionately, with his hands as much as his mouth, the entire time the great metal door cycled through its closing routine, inch by inch obscuring his view, until the doctor could no longer be seen.

When Arcade re-emerged, he was beaming, his smile bright as his hair. “The Remnants will be vertibirding directly to the Dam. Expect a lot of firepower and dead bodies. Enclave technology is even more advanced than the Brotherhood. It's truly a sight to behold.”

His fingers flexed and Vulpes had the distinct impression they wanted to grip something and that he was going to be dragged into a hug. Luckily, Arcade settled for fluffling his hair.

“Thanks. I… I think I graduated from ‘kid’ to someone they could respect. Better late than never, eh?”

“Will you be leading their attack?”

“What? No. No, Judah will be doing that. I never actually served the Enclave, remember. My father did, but I was just born there. It seems presumptuous of me to think I could join them, fight at their sides.”

“It seems presumptuous of them not to accept you as their leader.”

“I think you’re a little bit blinded by affection. Or alcohol. Did you find alcohol, because I thought there was only water?”

“You know I rarely drink.”

“I know. It was a joke. Silly Arcade making stupid jokes because he’s terribly, terribly… _afraid_." The last word was almost a whisper. "Just a moment,” he added quickly, louder.

Arcade approached one of the blue-lit tubes containing Enclave power armor and deactivated its force field. 

“I’m told this was my father’s. They kept it safe for me. The family Tesla armor. You know you’re Enclave when you’ve got family Tesla armor, right? I want you to have it.”

Bending forward to reach into the tube, Arcade fiddled with a switch and abruptly the armor powered on, lights of blue and orange and yellow blazing to life, and tendrils of lightning jumping and crackling about the bulbs. It was breathtaking. Vulpes was reminded of the first time he saw New Vegas at night. A frenzy of little, moving, colored lights, utterly unnatural and unnecessary in the scheme of things, and yet… beautiful. 

“Why would you gift this to me?” He allowed a sliver of the awe he felt to slip into his tone. Arcade had mentioned before his difficulty in reading Vulpes’ impassive features, and Vulpes wanted him to know he appreciated the importance of this object.

“Because it’ll protect you a hell of a lot better than that mishmash of leather armor you’re wearing. What is that, Gecko-backed? It doesn’t even have a left sleeve! This should protect you from everything short of a Plasma Caster.”

Vulpes stroked the sleek metal with the fingertips of his left hand, once, before stepping back. “Thank you. Your ancestral armor is magnificent. But I prefer to meet death honestly.”

“ _Honestly_?! Wearing proper armor isn’t _cheating_ , you know. And there will be no meeting death! Death approaches you, _you cut the bastard_ , you hear me? Now wear the armor.”

“No.”

“Wear the armor.”

“No.”

“At least take the alien gun.”

“No.”

“So, what, that’s how you plan to charge into battle, is it?” Arcade’s hands were planted on his hips and an angry flush was highlighting his cheekbones. “Just cloth and leather against large projectiles and death rays? Hmm? You’d probably prefer to go in Legion skirts and bare skin, brandishing a giant shaving blade?”

“Yes.”

“Argh!!” Arcade tossed up his hands with an unintelligible scream at the ceiling. “You’re a _stubborn_ … _irrational_ … I don’t want to lose you. I _can’t_ lose you. There are so many things we haven’t done. I’m going to hug you now. Don’t stab me.”

Vulpes allowed himself to be drawn into an embrace. Arcade had surprising upper body strength. What with the way he carried himself, and his self-deprecating manner, it was easy to forget how strong Arcade was. Vulpes tried to remember not to feel trapped. 

Gradually, his muscles relaxed into the warmth and acceptance that was Arcade. Then, he raised his arms and wrapped them about the doctor in return. Face pressed against Arcade’s neck, he inhaled. 

Years of researching the medicinal properties of Mojave plants had imbued the fabric of Arcade’s lab coat with many comforting scents; spicy sagebrush, sweet honey mesquite, and creosote bush, the smell of rain in the desert. The warm musk of Arcade himself had become another of those comforting scents on Vulpes’ mental list. Eyes shut, he listened to Arcade talk.

“I want us to have time enough to let you get used to hugging,” Arcade was saying. “I want us to have the chance to lie on top of the Old Mormon Fort’s eastern guardhouse tower roof and watch the stars. I want us to grow old and increasingly crotchety together. I want to lick prickly pear puree off your chest and fuck you until you cannot walk.”

“I would have enjoyed… some of that,” he said, his lips brushing against Arcade’s skin.

“You would have enjoyed all of it, believe me. _Will_ enjoy it.” Arcade stepped back, rims of his eyes suspiciously red, swiping at his nose. “Right. _Fortis fortuna adiuvat._ I’ll wear the armor then.”

“No.”

Arcade could have strangled the man. “You’re being terribly repetitive.”

“Let me finish. When I leave for battle, I want you to go to the Old Mormon Fort. Freeside will need every doctor it can find. You started with the Followers of the Apocalypse. You should see the end through with them.”

“Why?!”

“Plausible deniability. There will be reports of Enclave involvement in the battle. If Enclave technology is as impressive as you say, you cannot expect the NCR not to notice. They must not be able to associate the Enclave with you. Also….”

Vulpes’ eyelids slipped shut and his brow knit—just a little crease in his forehead that might have been concentration, effort, or pain. Arcade had the urge to kiss it, regardless, and make it go away.

“I will not be cheated of my fuzzy rainbow. If you were to be shot in the final moments of this conflict, I would have no reason to live.”

Daisy interrupted before an astonished Arcade could gather his words to respond.

"Arcade?" she called. "There's a really smiley robot that wants to talk to you on the command room screen."

“Exciting news!” They could hear Yes Man cheerfully shouting from the room beyond her. “The Legion's massing troops in a staging area east of the dam! Attack imminent! Monster of the East, ready to roll!”


	13. Chapter 13

With nerves brittle and sharp as the crunch of dry dirt and gravel beneath his boots, Arcade sidled past the Legion’s tremendous gate and entered the Legate’s Camp.

A mob of Securitrons from under Fortification Hill had achieved the Camp ahead of him and were keeping the Praetorian guards and Prime legionaries busy. As long as no Legion snipers decided to kill him for kicks and giggles instead of defending their men against the machines, he’d be relatively safe. 

Or that’s what he told himself as his heart rioted in his chest and fear exuded from him in waves so strong he was sure the legionaries could smell his approach. 

Had this been a bad idea? Had that ever stopped him before? 

Still, it would have been so much easier to just stay in Freeside. 

Daisy had radioed him at the Old Mormon Fort to announce the Remnants’ drop off had been a success, and he'd promptly asked her to come pick him up. 

Despite his father’s Tesla armor having been left behind at the Bunker. Despite having to run from tent to tent within the Old Mormon Fort courtyard, bribing patients and staff alike with inordinate offers of caps to take pieces of their medium combat armor. 

At least he’d brought his alien blaster to the Fort with him. A person always needed a gun in Freeside. 

In terms of Enclave-self-identification, getting a ride from a vertibird ranked right up there with painting the Enclave emblem on his chest and dancing naked on stage at The Tops singing their anthem as loud as humanly possible. 

So much for plausible deniability. But, if they won, how much could that matter? The NCR would hate him regardless, for taking the Mojave away from them. 

And it had been rather amusing how the arrival of a working vertibird had shaken the local thugs. The Followers and Kings would be enjoying some peace and respect right now. Maybe a Sunset Sarsaparilla or three.

Meanwhile he had chosen to dash straight into the maw of the Monster of the East. 

_Insanity_. Pure, sex hormone-fueled insanity. That was the official definition of love, right? He didn't care. Vulpes might need his help. 

Arcade possessed no talent for secret slaughter, but he was perfectly capable of firing an energy weapon at massed hostiles.

He could do this. 

Dodging melee combatants, he charged past caged Legion mongrels and numerous crucifixes, searching the Camp in a stormy panic for any sight of the Legate and Vulpes. 

Their confrontation couldn’t have already taken place. He couldn’t have missed it. 

Vulpes couldn’t have already died, alone, before he got there to prevent it.

That wasn’t how this was supposed to happen.

Then suddenly his eyes lit upon the men he sought. 

Presenting strangely dramatic figures, very still above a sea of bodies in violent motion, Lanius and Vulpes stood on a twisted path winding up the steepest hill in the camp, wooden slats periodically shoved into its arid earth to form stairs.

Lanius was a behemoth of a man. Maybe it was all the armor. Maybe the huge, elaborate full-face mask. But he seemed more the size of a super-mutant than a human. The Monster of the East. 

_Monster of the Entire Fucking Compass._

Arcade ignored the voice inside him screaming he had no possible chance of taking that warrior down, and primed his alien blaster.

As he climbed the stairs toward them, he realized they were speaking to each other. He hesitated, pressing his back to the side of the hill, listening.

“You think _you_ can rule the Mojave?” Lanius sneered. His voice was very deep and rumbled. The Legion certainly had cornered the market on men with interesting voices.

“I do not seek to rule, I am merely your assassin. I serve at my master’s pleasure.”

“ _Your master?_ ” Lanius involuntarily looked toward his giant gate that led toward the Dam, wariness almost bordering on unease. “You do not fight for yourself?”

That Vulpes was waging war to place another person in power was apparently news to at least some in the Legion. 

“No. Though I admit my Lord’s command that you die pleases me greatly.”

“You were the fourth most powerful man in the Legion. Now the great Vulpes Inculta is merely a profligate’s bitch.” 

While Lanius’s tone was mocking, he had nevertheless glanced to the gate again, as if concerned that the formidable profligate who had taken one of Caesar’s greatest and owned him was sneaking up on their position even now.

“Nothing to say?” Lanius added.

“Hounds are capable of displaying great loyalty. I’m not overly disturbed by the comparison. You, on the other hand, are known to have no love for Caesar’s Legion, despite leading them. By definition that makes you a profligate. I don’t trade meaningless insults with the degenerate. I kill them.”

“I’ve heard enough.”

“Yet still I await your attack.”

“You will learn your place in my tent. On your knees.”

“Still waiting.”

Lanius raised his fearsome, two-handed blade, the muscles along his arms bunching and bulging. “I always suspected your power lay purely with your mouth. Let us see if I am correct.”

“You have been correct about me few times in your life. You should be prepared for disappointment.”

Lanius lunged. 

Arcade came out shooting.

Blue energy bolts pummeled Lanius’s chest, not only halting his charge but even driving him back a step. Pressing their advantage, Vulpes struck several times with his ripper, crippling Lanius’s right leg, before dodging back to whirl on Arcade. 

“What are you doing here?” he snarled.

 _"Sequar te ad manes,_ " Arcade snapped back, still firing at Lanius. _I will follow you to death._

Vulpes dodged a sweep of the Legate’s blade, caught the man's side with his ripper, sending a gout of blood arching into the sky and, with scarlet spatter on his face, grinned at Arcade. "I love you, too.”

Like two wild dogs taking down a yao guai, they attacked the Legate, cooperating in gruesome and terrifying struggle.

Later accounts would praise their legendary battle skills.

Arcade was pretty certain the alien blaster’s guaranteed critical hits helped, too.

When Lanius finally lay dead at their feet, Arcade was exhausted. He took Lanius’s mask and sword, mostly because Vulpes shoved them at him with the explanation that such trophies would prove their victory to Caesar, and they trudged to the top of the hill. 

As it happened, Caesar didn’t deign to meet with them. Standing outside the Legate’s empty tent, the view from the hill was one of swarms of ragged red uniforms running east to Arizona. 

A large explosion drew their attention in the other direction. 

“That would be the NCR,” said Arcade, hand shielding his eyes as he peered toward the Dam and the cloud of smoke rising from the Legion’s destroyed defenses. 

“You are the leader of this army. Go accept the NCR’s surrender. I will clean up any lurking Prime legionaries here and meet you.” Vulpes nodded toward where an NCR General was marching through the Camp gate, now that it was safe, now that Caesar's Legion was in full retreat.

Arcade strode down the hill, taking advantage of his long legs to almost lope over the wide planks. 

The General, backed by a slew of Veteran Rangers, approached him, slowly shaking his head in wonder. “Look at those plumed fucks run. General Lee Oliver,” he added gruffly, by way of introduction, without shaking Arcade’s hand. “Nice to have had your help, son, but we’ll take it from here.”

“Umm, no, actually, I think….”

“These robots with you? Hello, there, smiley.”

A veritable horde of Securitrons rolled up behind him, Yes Man in the lead.

“Yes, they’re with me. And here are your terms of your surrender.” Best to get this done quickly, right? Like tearing off adhesive. Less painful that way. Hopefully. 

“What? Say, who the hell are you, bub? Where's Braxton?”

“Dead."

"Well, that's a shame—"

"No, it's not. It's really not.”

"But we just took this Dam—“

“No, that was _my_ army of Securitrons that just took Hoover Dam.”

That sentence managed to plow its way into Oliver’s consciousness, forcing him to stop talking and listen. ”What are you saying?”

"My army of robots. My dam. My New Vegas. My Mojave. Is that clear enough?”

"Why you little shit—who do you think you are—“

"And, unless you would like to throw your troops at us, in a pointless, useless waste of life,” Arcade interrupted calmly, “I suggest you head west.”

“Isn’t he wonderfully masterful?” Yes Man called over.

“Please shut up,” Arcade hissed at him.

“I’m not letting some Followers of the Apocalypse fuck talk to me like that,” growled Oliver.

“I don’t represent the Followers. I’m… just me. Arcade Gannon. Arcade Gannon is in charge of the Mojave now. Sorry. I mean, I’m not _sorry_. I’m quite thrilled, actually. Just… sorry for your inconvenience. You’re going to have to leave now. All of you. The NCR. Out.”

"Nothing doing, sonny. This paper of yours? Isn't fit to wipe my ass. If you think after all that's happened, I'm going to grab my ankles and take it like the Legion..." 

General Oliver's voice trailed off as his eyes shifted to take note of something behind Arcade.

Apprehensive, Arcade glanced over his shoulder. What could possibly be coming now?

Vulpes approached, his pace a leisurely saunter, swinging his silent ripper with a graceful arc of his wrist. Blood flecked and flew through the air, spun from its carbide teeth to land in spatters and speckles in the sand.

Blood also bedecked his leather armor, some spots dark, shiny wet with it, and crimson streaked his face. A casual swipe of the back of his free hand across his mouth smeared blood below his chin. Another quick pass, this at his forehead, swept a blood trail that elongated his left eyebrow in a positively demonic fashion.

He was sweaty and grimy, blood-soaked and baleful, and the finest sight Arcade had ever seen.

Vulpes was also smiling. 

A wide display of wolfish teeth, more like an amused show of fangs than an actual human grin. That was probably what had given Oliver pause. 

What still gave him pause. 

Everyone stood in silence as Vulpes came to stand at Arcade’s right.

"Can we throw him off the Dam?" Vulpes asked, indicating General Oliver with the point of his ripper and a narrow glare of his eyes.

"No," Arcade responded quickly. "No more killing.”

Vulpes shrugged. ”The amount of hot air he speaks, he might reasonably be expected to float.”

“I can throw him off the Dam! Please! Please! Let me! I can do it! I'm terrific at throwing things!”

"No one is throwing anyone," Arcade sternly instructed Yes Man, but General Oliver was already backing away, muttering about crazy robots. 

“Tell them to put their guns down,” Oliver ordered, indicating the Securitrons. The Veteran Rangers flanking him shifted from foot to foot nervously.

“They’re Securitrons,” said Arcade. “They don’t get tired and they auto-repair. We outnumber you and we have greater firepower. This isn’t a fight you can win, General. Go home.”

“You think you got the guts to make a nation?”

“He has the guts.” Arcade indicated Vulpes. “I have the skills. I guarantee you, I’ve put far more thought and research into the concerns of the Mojave than anyone in the NCR.” 

“You fuck—you ain’t pissing on me right now, you’re pissing on the Bear.”

“I think we’re done talking.”

“I’ll see you hang."

Arcade drew himself up to his full height. “General Oliver, Hoover Dam is ours. The Mojave is ours. Leave at once. Or prepare to fight. There is nothing more to say.”

For a moment, the General looked like he was going to explode. Then he sighed, said, “This has been a fuck of a day," and gave the order for the NCR to retreat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is interested: _Sequar te ad manes_ literally translates as _I will follow you to the shades._
> 
> Shades=ghosts=afterlife. I just went with "death," but it's actually a little bit more poetic than that. :)


	14. In the master bedroom of the Lucky 38 presidential suite

“What is that?” Vulpes’ tone was a haughty cross between curiosity and contempt, a tone which Arcade had noticed he used toward most Old World things. 

Arcade ran a hand over the ornate mahogany frame of the giant cheval glass. “Yes Man had it fetched out of storage. Since the mirrors in here are all broken. He said I should be able to check my appearance, being the new leader and all, and make certain I’m looking my best before going out in public.” Arcade regarded his reflection and frowned. “The passive-aggressive little beast was probably hinting I’m less than presentable.”

Vulpes examined the full-length mirror. The wood had been carved with skill, a talent that should have been put to better uses than this frivolous object. Why would one need to see that much of oneself all at once? _Pre-War vanity._

“Do you want me to move it or cover it or something? It’s…. The way it’s positioned currently….” Arcade gestured in the general direction of the bed. “We’ll be able to see our reflections in it from the bed. If we’re in bed. We might not be in bed. I mean, unless you want to be….”

Vulpes glanced at the bed. Arcade had clearly been raiding the other floors of the Lucky 38. The head of the mattress was buried under more clean pillows than he’d ever seen in one place. A mountain of white fluff. The sheets were also bright white and crisply pressed. 

So. His suspicions had been correct. He could still use his old life to predict how things would happen in this new one. 

After a great victory, Caesar always made blood sacrifices to Mars.

This was his and Arcade’s first night home in a free Mojave. Thus ritual of some sort would be invoked.

Apparently involving an immaculately clean bed. 

An odd choice for blood spatter, but the red would show up well, at least.

Arcade was still talking. “I’ll cover it, shall I? I’m thinking ‘throes of passion’ is not going to be a good look for me.” He nervously glanced at his reflection again but didn’t move. 

“You have nothing to fear in that regard.”

Arcade smiled at him. “You’ll be all right, you and your subtle expressions. But I’m pretty sure I make ridiculous, embarrassing faces during sex. Well, all the time, really.”

“I have always thought you appear dignified _in extremis_. Which must annoy your enemies no end. Pain lends you a certain… _nobility_ that is exceedingly arousing.”

“I have no idea what to say to that soooo I’ll just be over here in this corner evaluating my life choices.”

Vulpes noted Arcade sounded more amused than uncomfortable. He looked to the bed again.

“Will there be blood?”

“What?! No! Absolutely not. No. Why would you think…? No.”

“No need to sound horrified.”

“No need to sound disappointed! What did you think we’re doing?”

Vulpes decided not to describe the Legion’s gory festivities. “I assume we are celebrating. This is a ritual of a more personal nature, then.”

“Ritual? I suppose you could call it that. Yes.” A pale blush tinged Arcade’s cheeks. His breathing, though hushed, came quick and shallow. Vulpes stepped close and watched his eyes darken with arousal. 

_Ah. That_ type of celebration.

An emotion began to boil to the surface of his mind and he ruthlessly quashed it before it could be recognized. Excitement? Dread? It didn't matter. Emotion was irrelevant. There was only obedience. And absolute obedience was proof—observable, unequivocal proof—of pure devotion in Caesar's Legion. That should be the same here as well. 

He would prove his devotion.

Vulpes waited.

“I was thinking…. We’ve never actually…. Not that it…. But this is a special occasion so…well.… I thought tonight we could… But not if you don’t.…” Arcade looked to the bed and took a deep breath. “Let me start over.”

“You would like to engage in anal intercourse.”

Arcade blinked. “Yes. Only if you’re interested, though.” He grinned awkwardly. “It’s not my favorite thing, but I thought, we’re in new territory with the Mojave, maybe we could explore new territory in our relationship. Did I say relationship? I meant….”

“Which position?”

“What? Oh, for the sex. I… ummm…. I didn’t think there were options…. I mean, I’m assuming Caesar adhered to the ancient Roman Penetrator-Good-Penetrated-Bad maxim, so I figured you would want to be the one who… penetrates…. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You once said you are normally the aggressor in your relationships.”

Arcade shook his head. “Not aggressor. Just dominant."

“Dominant. Then I would like to... submit to you…"

"Oh god.”

“... if that would please you.”

“ _YES!_ I mean, ahem, yes,” Arcade said, grasping for calm. “Yes. That would be…. Ermm. Yes.”

“Then I await your orders.”

Arcade did not immediately respond, instead looking intently at Vulpes' face. His gaze softened and he reached out to tenderly brush Vulpes’ cheek. “We don’t have to. I’m not insisting,” Arcade said with quiet affection.

Vulpes wondered what Arcade saw in his face, but resisted glancing at the mirror. If his expression was betraying fear, he did not wish to know. The inability to hide weakness was a failure too monstrous to acknowledge.

“There are other ways for you to demonstrate submission. We could… what you did before—“

Vulpes interrupted him. “My submission to you before the Think Tanks… I was still the active party.”

“Well not—”

“Yes. Acting upon you. I am willing… if you would enjoy….”

Arcade’s heart thundered in his ears at the hesitations in Vulpes’ speech. Vulpes never acted like this. What could he possibly be wanting to say? He watched Vulpes’ impassive face for some sign.

Vulpes’ nostrils flared slightly as he inhaled, a long, deep breath. “This time, you shall be the active party. Completely.” He swallowed. “You will be in control. I shall not resist.”

The dark thrill that tingled through Arcade’s frame was not something the wished to dwell upon. “Are you sure?”

Vulpes nodded. ”I do not give this lightly. In point of fact, I have _never_ given it, though once the choice was taken from me.”

"I remember. You don't have to—“

"I know. I wish to. I trust you.” Vulpes straightened to his full height. “You may do with me as you will.”


	15. The Fruit And Sex Chapter Cometh

After a rather comprehensive shower that left him feeling as uncommonly immaculate as the bedsheets looked, Vulpes re-entered the bedroom.

While Arcade had removed all his clothes but his trousers, he had added to the bed in Vulpes’ absence: four leather cuff restraints attached to the thin rails next to the wooden posts at the four corners of the bed. 

Arcade picked up one of the cuffs and pressed his thumb into its thick inner padding.

“Braxton had them.” He dropped the cuff back on the bed. It hit the mattress with a soft pat. 

_Lightweight and comfortable_. Manacles weren’t always so. 

Vulpes had seen objects like these before. His undercover spying forays into New Vegas on Caesar’s behalf had exposed him to much of the disgraceful debauchery in which profligates engaged. 

But he had always avoided situations where someone might expect to attach such devices to his body.

“I don’t know who he used them on, but I cleaned them,” Arcade continued. “Not that they looked dirty, I just…. I wanted everything to be new. Just for us.”

Vulpes nodded. This would be new in many, many ways. He ran his palms against the soft nap of the bath towel wrapped about his waist. 

“Before we start… I should say….” Arcade smiled ruefully. “You may not want to hear this but…. I don’t consider myself a bachelor anymore.”

“Excellent. Neither do I.” At the sound of his own voice, quicker and louder than he’d expected, Vulpes realized this was the first time he had spoken since he’d re-entered the room. 

He must do better at disguising his nerves.

Arcade’s eyebrows rose. “You don’t?”

“I consider myself to have formed an insoluble bond with you. In both senses of the word insoluble.” _Inexplicable and incapable of being dissolved._ He allowed himself to grin, so Arcade would understand he meant the statement affectionately.

The joyful glow that lit Arcade’s green eyes in response was worth any amount of pain or fear. 

Striding forward, Vulpes grasped Arcade by the back of the neck and pulled him down into a savage, hungry kiss. This was where he belonged. He would remake the Mojave in whatever image this man chose. Heat like the frenzy of battle sang in his veins. Then he remembered. 

This ritual was about his submission. 

He froze, then started to step back, but Arcade held him fast. 

“Stay with me,” Arcade whispered. 

Uncertain how to explain this was not a flashback, but concern he’d spoiled Arcade’s ritual, Vulpes decided to repair the damage by going straight into demonstrating his subservience.

Bowing his head with a subtle whimper, he tentatively nuzzled into Arcade, nudging into the base of his neck and chest, before abjectly pressing his forehead to Arcade’s collarbone. Arcade smelled pleasantly of woods, with an undertone of soap scented by flowers no longer extant. 

"You're going to enjoy this. I promise.” Arcade’s warm breath caressed his ear. 

Vulpes shivered involuntarily as chills chased up his spine. 

Arcade maneuvered to get to Vulpes’ mouth, his actions terribly gentle, first kissing along Vulpes’ jawline, then Vulpes’ upper lip, next his lower, every touch unhurried, savoring each contact.

Then while one hand caressed and cradled the back of Vulpes’ neck, the other tugged at the tucked fold of towel at Vulpes’ waist. As the towel yielded to pressure, he leisurely drew it from Vulpes’ body and let it fall to the carpet.

“Pulcher es,” Arcade murmured, his tone almost reverent. _You are beautiful._

Vulpes frowned to himself and, resuming his submissive stance, muttered into Arcade’s chest, “Surely your vocabulary extends to more appropriate and less offensive adjectives.”

“Everyone’s a critic.” Vulpes could hear the smile in Arcade’s voice. “Tu mortiferum es. Periculo es.” _You are deadly. You are dangerous._

“Better.”

“Hush, scary person.” 

Framing Vulpes’ neck with his palms, Arcade strung more whispered praises between kisses, kisses distracting enough that Vulpes almost didn't realize they were moving until the backs of his legs hit the bed. 

He thought he could feel the heat and wetness of his own blood as his heart pulsed frantically in his chest, but he lay down without a word and allowed Arcade to fasten his wrists and ankles to the bed frame, the restraints’ jingle and clink sounding not unlike the loading a pack brahmin. 

If he focused on that image, he could let his mind skitter away from the fact that he was now lying on his back, naked, and bound in a spread-eagle position. 

Vulnerable. 

Helpless.

"You're under my control now." 

Vulpes swallowed. ”What am I to do?” 

Arcade smiled softly. ”Don’t _do_ anything. Just feel.” 

That was difficult. 

He had given his body to the control of others before, in the Legion, such as when he endured flogging whilst awaiting his crucifixion. Of course, there’d been other beatings. Even small infractions merited severe punishments in Caesar’s army. 

And you could never yield. 

Beating was a degradation. It gave tacit permission for higher ranking soldiers to subject you to further degradations, penetration being the most popular. Especially if you yielded and showed weakness. 

Weakness was death. 

So he’d braced his body against the pain and outlasted it, merely one more trial to be survived, and he would be made stronger by the survival, for the glory of great Caesar and the world he shaped in his Legion’s image.

Vulpes’ cultivation of a frighteningly high tolerance for pain coupled with wicked fighting skills had kept higher ranking soldiers at a distance until he’d become leader of the Frumentarii, a personal favorite of Caesar’s, and therefore untouchable. 

Except perhaps by Caesar himself.

He would have obeyed, had Caesar ever ordered it of him. As his lord and master, Caesar had that right, and he would have been bound to acquiesce and endure. 

Arcade was his lord now, and—as a far better person—Arcade should possess even more right to his obedience. 

More right to his submission. 

More right to his pain. 

If this… situation would please Arcade, then it would be endured. 

No. More accurately, it would be welcomed, because he would sacrifice anything to give Arcade the pleasure the man deserved.

Arcade stroked the sensitive skin of Vulpes’ inner arm, exposed as it was by the way his arms were extended, and Vulpes inadvertently jerked against the restraints.

“Relax.” Arcade made soothing sounds, as he would to a started animal, and the pack brahmin comparison returned to Vulpes’ thoughts. He found it more amusing this time, and he wondered if this was how hysteria starts.

“While I have you tied to the bed like this, nothing I do should hurt,” Arcade continued. “That’s not the point of this part. If anything does hurt, you tell me immediately. And no being stoic because you have superior pain tolerance. Alright?”

“Yes.”

“If at any point, you want me to stop—for any reason—just say. I will.”

Arcade’s hand moved to run his fingertips down Vulpes’ chest. Vulpes’ muscles tensed, guarding against the touch. Arcade met Vulpes’ eyes, his gaze compassionate as one blonde eyebrow lifted in query.

Vulpes spoke in a husky whisper, “Cedere nescio.” _I know not how to yield._

Tenderly, Arcade stroked his hair back from his forehead. “I guessed.” His thumb gently rubbed across the slashes of Vulpes’ dark eyebrows. “Close your eyes.”

Vulpes obeyed.

“Now. Liceat mihi,” Arcade began. _Allow me._

“Of course,” Vulpes quietly replied. “Tu periculum dignitas captus.” _You are a risk worth taking._ Arcade always had been, right from the very beginning. 

The mattress shifted as Arcade stood. He heard him moving about the room, followed by the clinking of glass. Then the bed squeaked as Arcade rejoined him. 

Another chime of glass against glass. The clack of several containers being set down on the wooden bedside table. 

Vulpes sucked in a sharp gasp as cold liquid drizzled onto his chest, sending chills skating across his skin. He bit his lip against the almost-pain as a trail of icy fluid flowed over his left pectoral and coated a nipple. The surprise of sudden relief followed—the flat of Arcade’s hot tongue dragging across his contracted nub. 

Realizing he was holding his breath, he tried to exhale. As if lying in wait for this moment, drips of liquid ambushed him, peppering his stomach, breaking his breathing and forcing the skin of his lower belly to flutter against the icy assault. 

Long, lingering licks from Arcade’s tongue once again brought comfort. 

Breathing ragged, he tried to brace for more shivery drops. Instead, his skin pebbled as Arcade blew across the its wet surface. 

“You’re doing so well,” Arcade murmured, voice warm, caring.

Vulpes heart skipped at the praise. He could feel himself growing hard; thick, heavy, already half erect. 

Arcade took him in hand and he pulsed in Arcade’s grip, a single beat accompanied by Vulpes’ low gasp. 

“Not yet,” said Arcade, his voice hushed, its tenor mixing with the brittle jangle of something solid scraping glass. “Good thing I have some ice.” 

A burning cold pressed against the sensitive underside of Vulpes’ cock and he yelped, his body flinching helplessly in response.

The ice swiftly vanished. Arcade held his mouth to the area. Heat slowly seeped back in.

Vulpes collapsed back against the mattress, no longer straining at his bonds. 

“I won’t do that again,” Arcade said.

Vulpes took a shaky breath. “You are merciful, my Lord, but without cause.”

“Yeah… uh… maybe someday we can play Enclave Doctor and Legion Captive—and, y’know, I’m probably going straight to Hell for even suggesting that—but this isn’t that day. Okay? Now, here, have a reward.”

The scrape of wood and sounds of shifting china followed. Then a finger coated in something wet and slightly sticky slowly traced Vulpes’ lips. His tongue chased after. Sweet. Prickly pear juice.

A second later, a small chunk of something, damp and chilled, was pressed to his mouth. He opened obediently. 

When he bit down, a bright, tangy burst of liquid caressed his tongue. Prickly pear fruit. Unmistakeable. It tasted exactly how you’d expect something of that rich magenta color to taste. 

Arcade fed him another piece. Vulpes found himself playfully licking at Arcade’s fingers when he tried to feed him another.

“Right, you’re recovered.” Arcade chuckled. The bed shifted. “I’m washing my hands. Keep your eyes closed.”

When he returned, Vulpes heard the metal rattle of a jar being unscrewed. 

Then Arcade climbed onto the bed. Vulpes could feel the fabric of the doctor’s trousers against the skin of his inner thighs. Arcade knelt between his spread legs. 

“I’m going to be touching your perineum now,” Arcade explained. He whispered, “Touch. Touch. Touch.” as he did so. 

Vulpes’ couldn’t help smiling in response to this unintentional silliness, so characteristic of his Follower, and a rush of affection filled his veins. 

Fingertips cool, but warming to Vulpes’ body temperature, each of Arcade’s strokes moved a little farther back toward Vulpes’ entrance. 

“Now I’m—“

“I should hope I know what you are about to do now, doctor. Go ahead.”

Arcade’s slickly lubricated fingers were firm and gentle, massaging and caressing him with seemingly no agenda other than giving tactile pleasure, the gradual stretching more a side effect than a goal.

Vulpes let himself purr with enjoyment, savoring how Arcade spooled out the pleasure this massage afforded. 

Then the pads of Arcade’s fingertips rubbed something and a short, shocked shout escaped Vulpes before he could stop it. Who knew there was a spot inside him that lit up like the lights of New Vegas?

“Followers knowledge,” Arcade said, sounding delighted. “Good for something, right?”

Arcade massaged this new spot and Vulpes found himself writhing with the delicious sensations, eyelids squeezed shut tight.

He whimpered when Arcade stopped and withdrew.

At the click of a belt, Vulpes opened his eyes. With nimble, eager fingers, Arcade was shucking off his trousers. Next he unbuckled Vulpes' restraints.

“I’m going to have you turn over now. Hands and knees. If you don’t mind.”

Vulpes snorted and rolled over into position. “Orders need not sound so apologetic.”

“I’m not ordering you.” Arcade said, his voice calm but firm. “Again, if you want me to stop, you tell me and I’ll stop.”

He wanted to tell Arcade he’d gladly die for him, but he knew from previous experience this would result in a lecture on unhealthy relationships so he kept silent and simply nodded.

Suddenly Arcade was covering him, thighs to thighs, chest to back. 

Protectively. Possessively. 

Arcade’s teeth nipped the back of Vulpes’ neck. Vulpes closed his eyes and growled in approval.

He felt Arcade at his entrance and started to tense before his mind was distracted by teeth closing carefully upon his nape, worrying gently at his flesh. He groaned and let his body arch into the savage touch.

Arcade eased himself inside. “So good. So good.” He alternated praise with kisses to Vulpes’ back, pushing into him, filling him, but terribly, exquisitely slowly.

Each of Arcade’s thrusts only advanced a little before withdrawing almost to his tip. Then he was inexorably pushing into Vulpes again, opening him up just a fraction more before another gradual retreat. 

It was driving Vulpes insane with need. He tried to find Arcade’s rhythm, hoping to hurry him, making little begging noises in the hope he’d slam home. 

Arcade refused to be tempted, maintaining the gentle pace of his conscientious conquest. But he was breathing hard with the effort of holding back. 

"Oh god. Oh god." Arcade’s words were low, quick, a part of his panting gasps. "You're so… so _tight_.” He moaned, the sound welling from deep within him. "I never thought… you'd ever let me… let me…. God _yes_.” 

His thrusts picked up speed, acquiring a rough edge that Vulpes didn’t mind at all.

“Wait. I can make this good for you, too. Just… correct angle….”

Arcade hit that spot of Followers’ knowledge and Vulpes’ jaw clamped shut, teeth grinding with the strain of repressing his response.

But Arcade’s aim was true, repeatedly, battering that special spot and all Vulpes’ defenses until finally eliciting an open-mouthed cry of pleasure. His restraint, once broken, now shattered beyond repair. 

Intense, animalistic noises tumbled over themselves in their hurry to escape his lips; noises shamefully embarrassing to his own ears because of their clear, desperate need. 

But Arcade had won this from him. He was conquered and this was part of his submission, and he let go, gave up every involuntary sound of his pleasure.

“Yes. Take it. Take it.” Arcade’s hips snapped with almost brutal force, working that spot inside him merciless abandon. “I love that you're allowing me…. _Ohgod._ Oh, you’re mine. You’re _mine_.”

Vulpes groaned in assent. “Tuus sum. Tuus dicar oportet.” _I am yours. It is proper that I be called yours._

The ardent, overwhelmed moan wrenched from Arcade at those words was all he could have asked for in a response. 

“I’m not… not going to last. And I want you to feel me, feel me for days after…. Remember me.”

“Semper te memoro. Te amo.” _I will always remember you. I love you_. He said it and knew it was true.

“Need to see your eyes," Arcade gasped. "See your eyes… when I make you come. I’ll know precisely when you lose control.”

Vulpes opened his eyes.

He was facing the mirror and found himself immediately confronted with his own reflection. He groaned. 

Was this how he always looked? Flushed cheeks, reddened lips parted to reveal a glimmer of white teeth, dark eyes, and his cock flushed dark, too, slapping against his abdomen with each of Arcade’s harsh thrusts, leaking long threads of white on the pristine sheets.

But the worst, the worst was the expression on his face, so terribly open and vulnerable, so utterly wrecked and obviously besotted with the man who was doing this to him. 

His gaze flicked to Arcade, their eyes meeting in the reflection.

Arcade could see all this. All these emotions. He couldn't hide any of it. He'd never felt so exposed. 

Urgently he struggled to get his features back under his control. Then he realized the Arcade in the mirror, his heavy blonde forelock fallen in his face, skin pinked with exertion, a lopsided grin on his lips, had the same smitten expression in his wide, darkened eyes. 

Arcade’s right hand released Vulpes’ hip and moved downward.

“Cor meum es,” Arcade said, his eyes holding Vulpes’ in the mirror as surely as his fingers now gripped Vulpes’ cock. _You are my heart._ “Te semper amabo.” _I will always love you._

Vulpes’ tried to frame an answer but couldn’t find his brain. The friction was too much. His body rushed toward orgasm, his flesh suffusing with prickles and spangles like an oncoming sneeze. He was lost, and Arcade could see.

Arcade’s head snapped back, revealing the straining muscles in the long line of his throat. A red flush mottled the too-pale skin of his chest. A moan rattled behind gritted teeth. He was coming. 

Arcade. Apollo. God of medicine. God of the sun. _Oh, Mars_

Vulpes called out before his lungs seized and his body became a spasming, jerking mess of irregularly clenching and unclenching muscles. 

It hurt. It was too intense. 

Yet somehow it was so pleasurable he never wanted it to end. Arcade could kill him with this and he'd let him. He'd let him do anything he pleased. Arcade was his lord and master and there would never be another.

When he came back to himself, he found himself in Arcade’s embrace, the two of them lying together on their sides like spoons.

"You said my name.” Arcade spoke with affectionate awe as he nuzzled Vulpes hair.

"Hnnh?" The floaty place where Vulpes existed felt too good to form words.

"When you came. You said my name.”

“You are Mars?”

Arcade chuckled. "Okay, you said that, too."


	16. Epilogue: The Survival of Cats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the _Fallout_ universe, cats were thought to be extinct before _Fallout 4_ revealed they had survived in the Commonwealth. 
> 
> Since, in my universe, Arcade has previously wished cats survived, once I saw them in _Fallout 4_ , I knew I had to give Arcade one. Hence this epilogue.

Yes Man’s cheery voice blasted over the intercom speakers. “Guys! Good news!”

Arcade groaned sleepily and rolled over, the bed creaking with his movements. 

“You know how you like me to monitor transmissions?” Yes Man continued. “Guys? Guys? Are you awake?”

“Awake,” Arcade mumbled. 

“Are you sure?”

“Report,” Vulpes ordered sharply, before dropping his head back into his pillow.

“I love it when you're masterful,” Arcade and Yes Man declared simultaneously, Arcade mimicking the robot.

Vulpes pulled the pillow from beneath Arcade’s head and hit him with it. 

Arcade’s resultant laughter halted in shock at Yes Man’s next words.

“Cats have been discovered in The Commonwealth! They’re not extinct! Several caravans have already set off to procure some! Isn’t that great?”

“Cats aren’t extinct after all. That’s….” Arcade searched for a word. “ _Miraculous_. Yes. A light in the apocalyptic darkness. A positive light, not a nuclear blast light. Obviously." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'll have to tell Boone. Sometimes his Thing That Watches gives something back.”

“I shall purchase you a cat.” Vulpes muttered into his pillow. “I shall purchase three if you stop talking and let me sleep.”

“You need coffee. Hey, I could have my own cat cafe! Coffee and cat petting. Oh, I'll call it _Perks and Purrs_! See what I did there? Although instead of using percolation, I could construct a vacuum coffee maker.…”

“You are going to be the Mojave’s Overlord _and_ run a local drinking and cat petting establishment?”

“No, I’m not good with people. The cafe will be just for me.”

“I see."

"And you. I think you'd like cats."

"Wake me any further and I shall devote my morning to making you come so hard your eyeballs bleed."

“Yes, we are definitely going to live happily ever after. That’s the term, y’know. Not ‘fuzzy rainbow.’ ‘Happily ever after’.”

Anything else Arcade might have said on the matter was lost beneath a slew of Vulpes’ ferocious kisses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, we have reached the end of my Vulpes/Arcade epic. (FINALLY. Am I rite?) 
> 
> I’ve thoroughly enjoyed creating this universe and—even more—I’ve been truly honored by the magnificent people who have read, commented, and/or created works inspired by this. Seriously. The Legion gals and guys from LiveJournal (remember that? back in the day?) and here have been the best writing support group EVER. You gave me a chance to write like I never have before and made me a better writer in the process. 
> 
> If my internet gravestone attributes nothing to me but the **What Happens In Freeside** series, I will die happy. 
> 
> Thank you, each and every one of you. I love you. <3
> 
> P.S.
> 
> If you want to keep the experience going a smidge longer, I’ve collected some of the wonderful Vulpes/Arcade artwork that was done for me over the years [HERE: https://www.pinterest.com/coffeeminx/fan-art-gifts-and-commissions](https://www.pinterest.com/coffeeminx/fan-art-gifts-and-commissions)
> 
> Lemme know if you ever see more, and I’ll add to the board. :)


End file.
